


Paradise Circus

by betweenfactandbreakfast



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Drugs, F/F, Gun Violence, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenfactandbreakfast/pseuds/betweenfactandbreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run from both Darkspawn and Templars, a sarcastic young apostate named Marian Hawke tries to make a life for herself and her family in Kirkwall. Her actions end up shaking the world in ways she could never have predicted.  Set in a high-tech version of Thedas, this fic spans the entire plot of Dragon Age II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A few things to note about this AU:
> 
> 1\. Bethany is not killed at the beginning, she was taken to a Circle by the Templars before the Blight.
> 
> 2\. The Hero of Ferelden in this universe is my canon warden, Daeren Mahariel.
> 
> 3\. Darkspawn are more like zombies here. That broodmother shit doesn't exist, it's infection-based. A cure exists, but it's rare and only the Wardens have it, just like in canon.
> 
> 4\. The Chantry, Templars, Circles etc. are all the same, but with more advanced technology. As you'd expect.. 
> 
> 5\. I'll be pretty much following the plot of the game, but taking some liberties and cleaning up the plot where I think its weakest. (is it me or did act 3 make absolutely no sense) but no major changes.

_It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm_  
_We can roll ourselves over 'cause we're uncomfortable_  
_Oh well, the devil makes us sin_  
_But we like it when we're spinning in his grip_

* * *

 

“Look, mum, just-“ Marian Hawke jerked the steering wheel violently to the right. Why was she driving, again? She was hardly the best driver in the family. Still, they hadn’t had any time to argue when they’d set out, and there wasn’t time now. “We’ve got to keep going, alright? We’ll talk about this when we get to Kirkwall. ”

As they careened down the winding dirt road, each pothole and bump making the car lurch wildly, she glanced in the mirror at her mother in the backseat. She was thin and pale and frightened, hands tight around her seatbelt. Next to Marian in the passenger seat sat Carver, her moody younger brother.

“No, we’ll talk about this now,” Leandra said.

“I agree,” Carver said. “I still don’t understand exactly what’s going on.”

“What a surprise,” Marian snapped at him.

Carver scowled. “You think you’re so bloody clever, but you’re the one got us into this mess, right?”

“And I’m getting us out.”

“Fucking hell, Marian,” Carver swore, voice rising angrily. “We’re running away. To bleeding Kirkwall!”

“The Blight wasn’t Marian’s fault. If she hadn’t used her magic to kill those Darkspawn, we’d be dead,” said Leandra.  “And there’ll be no swearing in this car.”

“Yeah, Carv, do try and keep control of yourself.”

“And you stop being so nasty, Marian. Honestly, are you both still children?”

“Look, there’s a sign for Gwaren.” Carver pointed out as it flashed by. “We can take a ferry from there to Kirkwall.”

“Thank the Maker. Ring Gamlen for me, would you dear? I’m too worn out to do any talking.”

She passed Carver the phone, which he flipped open and punched numbers into angrily. There was silence while the dial tone rang.

“He’s not picking up.” Carver said after a few minutes.

“Leave a message.” Marian suggested.

Carver did, but then said: “He may not get it in time. Where do we stay for tonight?”

“I set aside some money in case this happened. There’s enough for a hotel. “

“Why didn’t you tell me you thought this might happen?” Leandra said.  

“Well, I didn’t think it’d involve you lot!” Marian replied honestly. “It was just in case me or Bethany needed to get away quickly. “

As usual, Bethany’s name immediately cast a sombre mood over them all. It had been a month since the Templars had taken her away, but the pain hadn’t lessened. “You would have just left us?” Leandra said quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’d’ve found some way of sending you money.” Marian snapped, suddenly annoyed.

“Marian! You know that’s not why-“

Carver snorted loudly, as if that was definitely why.

“Alright, that’s enough! We’ll discuss this later, when we’re safely in Kirkwall, and Carver’s done pointedly expelling mucus from his nose.”

“I’ll strangle you.”

“You can try.”

Carver began an angry reply, but was drowned out by Leandra’s warning screech- too late. A car had jetted out of nowhere and they slammed into its front, spinning wildly off-kilter across the road.

“Shit!” Marian shouted. Just what they bloody well needed. She reached for the gun she'd shoved in the cupholder, ignoring her mother’s pleas of ‘ _Marian, you don’t need that_.’ She’d once thought she’d never need her father’s gun either, until she had.

Marian got out of the car to assess the damage and make sure the other driver didn’t want to murder her. On the other side, Carver got out too.

Neither car looked too irreparably damaged, thank the Maker. It was a pretty bad scrape on the other one, though.

It was a black rover, with tinted windows making it impossible to see who was inside. She sent a quick prayer up to Andraste and them that whoever it was, they wouldn’t be too angry.

She knocked, and the driver’s window rolled down, revealing a serious-looking woman with red hair and freckles. She looked dazed, staring at Marian in shock.

“Our fault,” She said before Hawke could speak. “We were stopped in the middle of the road, looking up directions. Didn’t think anyone would be coming this way.”

“Oh,” Marian said in relief. “Oh, alright. That’s alright, then. We won’t press charges or anything. Sort of keen to be on our way.”

The backseat window rolled down and a man’s head stuck out. Ginger may have looked spooked, but this guy looked awful, like he was on the brink of death.

“And where are you off to so quickly? You were doing 90, easy. Speed limit’s 80.”

Marian felt her heart leap into her throat as she caught notice of the symbol stitched onto the man’s jacket- a sword, pointing upwards, surrounded by squiggles radiating outwards. Bethany had always thought they were rays of sun. Marian thought they were flames.

A Templar. They’d crashed right into a fucking Templar.

Marian breathed, trying to appear calm. “We were both breaking the law, mate.”

“Fair enough. Drop it, Wesley.” Said the redhead. “It looks like we can still drive, so there’s no problems here.”

“Nor here.”

Wesley still looked suspicious, but said nothing.

“I’m Aveline by the way. This is my husband, Wesley. Where are you headed?”

“Kirkwall. I’m Hawke, that’s my brother Carver.”

“Family trip?” Wesley said, tone far from pleasant.

“Of the permanent kind.” Marian returned. “My mother has family there, we’re going to live with them.”

“We’re heading there too. Or trying to. Might’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Follow us, then.”

“Right,” Aveline nodded. Marian grabbed Carver and pulled him back towards the car.

“He’s a Templar.” She said, once Aveline and Wesley were out of earshot.

Carver exhaled loudly. “Fuck. Just what we fucking needed.”

“It’s fine, Carver, just get into the-“ Marian stopped abruptly as she caught sight of a long black vehicle cresting the hill. “-into the car. Fast.”

“What? What are you going to do?”

“See that car coming over the hill?”

“Shit!” Carver hissed. “Why don’t we outrun it? Outdrive it, I mean.”

“We can’t.” Marian said grimly. Even from here she could see the approaching car had vastly superior horsepower.  “Get in the car.”

“Not if you’re gonna be out here.”

Maker, he was a stubborn blighter. “Fine,” Marian growled, pulling her pistol out of her waistband and handing it to him. “Take this, then.”

“I don’t know how to use this!”

Marian sighed. “It’s really very simple, Carver. You point it, pull the trigger. Expect some recoil, but don’t overcompensate. Maybe you should wait in the car.”

“No!” He spat vehemently. “I’m done with you protecting this family on your own. It should be my responsibility.”

“Touching, Carv. Or possibly sexist, I can never tell when it’s you.”

“I’m not sexist-“

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

The car rolled to a halt. It could be that it was just a friendly driver on this deserted Korcari road stopping to see if they needed a jump-start, but let’s be real here.

“Hawke!” Came a shout from behind. Fuck. Aveline and Wesley. She’d forgotten.

“Aveline, you should just go. It’s not you they’re after.”

“Yes they are!” Aveline said, drawing up to Marian’s shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Protecting my family.” Marian snapped.

“Trust me, they don’t want you.”

“Trust you? You’re Templars!”

Three men got out of the car, hulking men in dark suits and shades. All very clichéd.

“What do you want?” Marian shouted at them.

“We’re after the Templar!” The leader shouted back. “This hasn’t got anything to do with you, lady. I suggest you get out of here.”

Aveline hissed. “I told you so.”

Hawke shrugged, turned to go. She sure wasn’t getting involved in a Templar’s fights.

“Hold on,” Her stomach dropped. She knew that voice. “That’s Hawke, that is. I run with her under Barlin some years back. She’s one of them, you know- gifted.”

There could be no mistaking what he meant, and there was no getting out of it now. Marian turned slowly back. Aveline took a few wary paces away from her.

“Marlowe,” Hawke said calmly. “Moving up in the world, I see. You let my family go and I swear we won’t stand between you and the Templar.” It was a long shot. People didn’t just let things like her go.

“Sorry, miss.” Said the ringleader. He was staggered a couple steps in front of the others and had that weird fake silkiness to his voice, like a movie villain. “You’re too valuable to let go.”

She sighed. “At least someone thinks I’m worth keeping around, I suppose…”

“Still making your jokes, Hawke?”

“Still got a tiny cock, Marlowe?” Good, that shut him up.

“How, you know, powerful is she?” Asked the one who hadn’t spoken yet, a skinny rat-faced man.

“Not very,” Marlowe said sniffily. “She was never Circle trained.”

Carver shifted.

Marian smiled widely, because, hell, that was funny as fuck. It was true that Marlowe had never seen her perform magic. Her grin seemed to unnerve them.

“So, who are you, anyway?” She said conversationally.

“They call me Ogre.” Said the leader, cracking his knuckles.

“That has got to be the stupidest-“

“Enough talk,” Ogre snapped before she could finish her quip. “The Templar and the mage. Hand them the fuck over. If the rest of you cooperate, we’ll let you walk away from-“

“Shut up, Ogre.” Hawke interrupted. She turned to Aveline. “Are you planning on cooperating?”

“Like hell,” Aveline said.

“Carver, maybe you should give the gun to Aveline and-“

“It’s alright, I’ve got my own.” Hawke looked at her in surprise, and then the first gun shot rang out.

“Marian!” Carver shouted, but it had missed her.

“Still a crap shot, then, Marlowe?” Marian shouted, shaking her hands vigorously in preparation.

It was a wonderful feeling, the currents of magic spiralling through her being, infusing her with the sensation of raw power. She froze rat-face, and he keeled over.

Marian laughed at the shock on their faces, then glanced around to see how her own allies were doing.

Aveline was charging forward like a bull towards Ogre, effectively drawing attention away from Carver. She landed a well-placed shot on the frozen rat-face, shattering him into a million pieces.

Marian pulled up, creating a prison of light that was rapidly collapsing in on Marlowe. She stepped towards him, punched him in the face, breaking his nose.

“You know something, Marlowe?” She said as blood gushed over his face. “I’m glad we had this chance to catch up.”

He actually whimpered.

“Last time we saw each other, you fobbed me off well and good with that faux poison. You cost me a lot, you know.”

He started to say something that was probably an apology, but she didn’t want to hear it. She touched a finger to the bright blood on his face.

Ogre and Aveline were actually physically grappling, guns forgotten in the dirt.

“Well,” She said. “Nice knowing you, Marlowe. Thanks for your blood.”

What little colour remained there drained from his face. “You’re a fucking blood mage.”

“And you’re a fucking corpse.” Hawke replied, then grabbed his face and drained.

Aveline and Ogre were momentarily obscured in a haze of red, then it cleared and Aveline was stepping over Ogre’s body towards them. She blinked, once, twice, then her eyes widened and she rushed forward.

“Wesley!” She shouted, cradling the Templar in her arms. Blood was spitting from a gunshot wound in his belly. It looked, to Marian, fatal.

“Oh, Maker, Maker, no, please.” Aveline moaned, rocking back and forward.

Awkwardly, the Hawke siblings stood over her, unsure what to do. They barely knew this woman, and after Bethany’s fate it was hard to bring themselves to mourn a Templar.

Leandra ran towards them. “Is everything alright- I- oh.” She trailed off, catching sight of Aveline and Wesley.

“Aveline, I’m sorry.” Marian said.

Aveline didn’t reply, but Marian’s attention was promptly distracted by a fourth person getting out of Ogre’s car.

It was the last person Hawke would have expected to be travelling with Ogre’s ilk- a tall woman, wearing a slinky crimson business suit, white hair slicked back into an elaborate ‘do. Her smile was snakelike, her eyes burned in a way that didn’t seem entirely human.  She stepped towards them, carefully, deliberately. Hawke got the impression that despite the mess they’d made of her friends, this woman wasn’t frightened of them in the slightest.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Something about the way she said it made Hawke’s blood run cold.

“This is a most curious sight,” She purred. “The mighty Ogre, vanquished. Who could perform such a feat?”

“It wasn’t difficult,” Hawke said nonchalantly. “Might want to hire tougher bodyguards next time, lady.”

The woman laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh, they weren’t my bodyguards. We were merely travelling together, for convenience’s sake. No, dear girl, I hardly require such incompetent buffoons to defend myself.”

“Oh,” Said Hawke. “Cool, then. Do you need a lift?”

“Not precisely.”

“I’m Hawke,” Hawke said. “Your friends attacked us, or I wouldn’t’ve bothered.”

Her eyes glimmered, like she understood her better than Marian ever could herself.

“Hurtled into chaos, you fight… and the world will shake before you,” She said, cryptically. “Is it fate, or chance? I can never decide.”

Marian didn’t quite know what to make of that.

 “Don’t trust her,” Aveline spoke up, making Hawke jump. She still cradled the Templar’s body in her arms, and her eyes were red-rimmed but suspicious. “I know what she is. The Witch of the Wilds. An apostate.” Her eyes flicked to Hawke, almost accusatory.

“Some call me that, yes, if they are particularly superstitious or old-fashioned.” Said the woman. “Also Flemeth, or Asha’Bellanar.”

 “You intend to outrun the Blight, I presume?”

“Yeah, we’re headed to Kirkwall.”

Flemeth pierced her with a gaze. “You should know, you are headed in the wrong direction. Shortly ahead are towns utterly overrun by Darkspawn. You will not be able to defend against so many.”

Hawke exchanged a glance with Carver, then Leandra. They had been hoping this wouldn't be the case. 

“Can you help with that, maybe? We need to get to Gwaren.”

“Perhaps I can.”

“There’s got to be a catch.” Hawke said.

“There is always a catch! Life is a catch! I suggest you _catch_ it while you can.” Flemeth said with a laugh, moving back towards them. She extended a hand, pressed something into Hawke’s palm. “Take this to Keeper Marethari, of the Dalish elves who live near Kirkwall.”

Hawke looked at it- it was a funny little brooch, utterly mundane. But if someone like Flemeth wanted it delivered so badly, it must contain something very important indeed.

“Do this, and your debt will be repayed.”

Hawke stuck it in her pocket, nodded. “So how are you going to help us get to Gwaren?” She grinned. “Don’t tell me- you can turn into a dragon.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I can do,” Returned Flemeth with a smile. “Get back into your cars. Start driving. You’ll be there sooner than you think.”

Hawke frowned, but nodded. They had little choice, really, but to trust this Witch of the Wilds was really as powerful as the legends claimed.

“Come on,” She said to her family, and they turned to go back to the car.

Hawke stopped next to Aveline. “You can come with us, if you like.”

“I can’t just... leave him here for the Darkspawn.” She whispered into his hair.

“Templar helicopters are on their way.” Flemeth said, looking at the sky. “They will take care of your man.”

Gently, Aveline laid her husband upon the ground, closing his glassy eyes and resting his arms on his stomach. “Rest well at the Maker’s side, my love,” She said, and got unsteadily to her feet.

“Let’s go.” Hawke slipped an arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort this woman she barely knew. This wife of a Templar.

 They got back into the Hawkes’ battered old Mondeo, and Marian started up the engine.

They trundled down the road, at first completely as before- but then the scenery started to slip by like water, changing from dust and gnarled black trees to lush green forest. They had gone miles in seconds, and Gwaren was in sight.

“That is one powerful bitch,” Carver said with a low whistle as they entered the town. It was a charming little coastal affair, but a tourist trap if Marian had ever seen one. Or it would have been, before the Blight.

“Do you really think she could turn into a dragon?” Marian asked. “I want that power.”

“Great, then you’d really be Little Miss Special Snowflake.”

“Get the fuck over yourself, Carver.” Hawke said, pulling into the queue for the ferry. It seemed as if many Fereldans had had the same idea, because the pile-up of cars was considerable, and fast growing.

After an hour of queueing up they finally boarded the ferry and were on their way to Kirkwall, the ‘City of Chains’, as it had been known for most of its grim history.

As the city loomed into view, Marian wondered why anyone would come to Kirkwall of their own volition. It was a pisser of a city by all reports (other than her mother’s nostalgic, wistful reminiscences, which weren’t entirely trustworthy) and up close, rather intimidating. The sort of place that if you stayed too long would suck the life out of you.  Not that Lothering was exactly the green green grass sort of home even before the Blight, but it was where she’d been raised, it was familiar and manageable. Not so was Kirkwall, city of chains, with its spiky, angular architecture and unsteady gargantuans of skyscrapers looming over it all.

“They’re not letting anyone into the city,” Said Aveline, pointing.

It was true. Policemen had set up an effective barricade, preventing the crowd of refugees from entering.

“Are you in charge here?” Hawke said, approaching one of them.

“I’m Lieutenant Jeven, in charge of this unit. I’m afraid you’re going to have to turn back. We’ve got no more room for refugees.”

“You can’t just shut us out,” Carver said incredulously. “We have family here.”

“Listen, I’ve heard claims like that a thousand times.” He had the grace to look a bit sorry. “Knight-Commander Meredith’s ordered a total lockdown until the Blight is over, unless you’ve legitimate business here.”

“You mean, unless we’ve got the dosh.” Marian said.  

He sighed. “I won’t lie to you, the…. more fortunate among you are more likely to see a welcome mat. But I’ve got my orders, ma’am.”

“Why _are_ you taking orders from a Templar commander?” Aveline asked suspiciously. “Aren’t you police?”

“Knight-Commander Meredith’s the power in this city. The mayor wouldn’t dare cross her.”

Hawke sighed, turned to her mother. “I suppose we’ll just have to hope Gamlen can help us.”

The Hawke family and Aveline sat alongside hundreds of other refugees in the Gallows, an unwelcoming doorway to the city and historical sight of slave hanging. Also, the centre of Templar activity in the city. Fun for all the kiddies. They’d left no end of messages on Gamlen’s mobile, but there had been no word so far.

“Where the hell is Gamlen?” Snapped Hawke again. The sooner they got into the city the better, she really couldn’t stand a moment more of this waiting.

“Right here.” Said a nasally voice she didn’t recognise, and they turned to see a ratty little man squinting at them.

“Gamlen!” Leandra exclaimed, hurrying forward to throw her arms around her younger brother. He stood stiffly during the hug, eyes roving over Marian and Carver suspiciously, as if Leandra had brought a pack of dynamite and a match rather than a nephew and niece.

When Leandra broke from the embrace she was beaming, eyes sparkling with a delight that was nearly childlike. “Oh, I have missed it here. How are the De Launcets, is Dulci still as insufferable as she used to be? Maker- I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually can’t wait to speak to the cow again.”

“I doubt the De Launcets will be speaking to _you_ anytime soon.” Gamlen muttered.

Leandra frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Just- don’t go expecting the Amell name to carry the same weight it used to, Leandra.”

Leandra frowned, as if that made absolutely no sense to her. Marian, however, was beginning to understand.

“The money.” She said, and Gamlen’s eyes snapped to her properly for the first time. “The estate. What’s happened to it?”

A vein in Gamlen’s temple throbbed for a moment, his jaw worked as if he didn’t know what to say. “It’s gone.” He said at last.

“What?” Exclaimed Leandra, aghast. “How could it be gone?”

Gamlen opened his mouth and closed it several times.

“Let me guess,” Marian said dryly. “You lost it all?”

The look on his face was confirmation enough.

“Gamlen, how _could_ you?”

“Look, could we blame Gamlen for everything later? I’d like to get into the city sometime today.” Snapped Carver.

“Right! Well,” Gamlen attached himself to the subject change like a limpet. “I’ve managed to get two of my contacts to agree to pay your way into the city.”

“There’s a price, I imagine?” Asked Marian. There was always a price.

“Yes, I’m- I’m afraid you’ve got to work off the debt. For a year.”

“A _year_? Gamlen, you are _not_ selling my children- your nephews- into slavery!” Leandra looked anguished, wringing her hands. She really had been looking forward to returning to luxury and comfort, Hawke thought. This was hitting her harder than it was her children, who had never been anything but poor and on the run.

“It’s fine, mum.” Hawke said, quietly. Wasn’t anything new, at least. She’d often had to work to pay off debts in the past. “What sort of work are we talking here?”

“One of them’s called Meeran. Sort of a mercenary type, beats people up, that sort of thing. But he’s a decent man, for a mercenary.”

Decent mercenaries? No such animal. Marian made a face. Ideally she’d prefer to avoid getting into many scraps while here. Kirkwall was teeming with Templars, and there was no way more certain than a full-on magical battle to get spotted.

“And then there’s Athenril, elf who runs a small-time smuggling operation here in Kirkwall.”

Much better. Marian nodded. “Ring Athenril.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Interjected Carver.

“Sure, although as the only person here who’s ever done any smuggling or mercenary work to speak of, I’d say my vote counts more than yours does.”

Carver bristled, Leandra fretted. “I don’t like the sound of this.” Said she, wringing her hands.

“Well, it’s a necessary evil.” Replied Marian bracingly. To Gamlen she said again: “Ring Athenril.”

Gamlen obliged, pulling out a battered mobile phone and pushing a few buttons, then he held it out to Marian, who took it and walked a few steps away out of earshot.

“Hello?” Said a sharp, no-nonsense female voice on the other end. “Who is this?”

“I’m Hawke, Gamlen Amell’s niece.”

“His niece? Old fucker sure as hell didn’t mention that part. Well, whatever.” Said Athenril. “I trust he’s filled you out on how this is going to work?”

“Yeah, he has.”

“Perfect. If you’re as good as your uncle says, you’ll be done in no time. If not-“

“I will be.” Hawke said quickly. She usually _was_ as good as people said.

Athenril laughed, softly. “Better hope so. Alright then. Transaction’s going through now, I’ll send someone to pick you up shortly. I look forward to working with you, Hawke.”

“Yeah.” Hawke nodded, flipped the phone shut and returned to her family.

 “Everything go alright?” Leandra asked.

Hawke nodded, surveying the gallows pensively. It wasn’t home yet, but it could be, with a little work. “Let’s see what else this city has in store for us.” She said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics (& title) by Massive Attack.


	2. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed, and the Blight is over. Hawke has made a name for herself in Kirkwall's underworld, but she is looking to change her fortunes. Things are shifting around her in Kirkwall. Heightening tensions between mages and Templars and the arrival of the Qunari mean things are going to get very interesting, soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where we meet Varric and Anders. If you are interested, here is an [inspiration blog](http://gaypunkhawke.tumblr.com/) I made for Hawke in this AU.

_I remember the time when a kiss on the hand was enough_  
_Cause we knew we were free_  
_And we knew what it meant to be loved_

* * *

  _One year later._

 “You need us on that expedition, Tethras.” Hawke insisted.

“Yeah,” The dwarf snorted. “You and half of Kirkwall, right? Listen, sweetheart- you’re too late. I don’t need any more help, especially from some skinny bitch who might start crying at the first sign of trouble.”

Ugh, and a misogynist to boot. If the Hawkes didn’t need the cash so badly, Marian would already have a fireball up his arse. “Fuck you, Tethras, I’m tougher than I look.”

“It’s true.” Said Carver next to her, earning a rare look of gratitude from his sister.

“Tough or not, we haven’t got room. And that’s final.”

Defeated, Marian and Carver turned away. Marian crossed her arms over her chest.

“We’ll find some other sort of work, Mar.” Promised Carver. “Maybe Aveline has something we can do, up at the precinct.”

“Nothing half so good as that bloody expedition.” Marian grumbled. “We’d have finally been able to move out of that shithole Gamlen calls a flat. If only that dwarven bastard knew what I can do.” She held her palms up in front of her face. A spark jumped from one set of fingertips to the other. “He’d be quick enough having a mage along, wouldn’t he?”

Carver glared sourly. “Well, you can’t tell him. And Templars’ve got hidden cameras everywhere in Kirkwall these days, so be careful.”

“A camera wouldn’t pick that up, Carv. And these Templars are even thicker than the ones back home.”

“Thicker, but also more dangerous. You’ve heard about the things Knight-Commander Meredith has been doing.”

“Excuse me,” Said a voice before Marian could reply. They turned to see a short, oddly beardless dwarf, leaning against a wall. He was dressed in a sharp suit, probably some designer label Hawke had never heard of, and gold glimmered on his ears and around his neck.

“What do you want?” Marian snapped, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.

“I couldn’t help overhearing-“

Marian stiffened, scowled. “So, this is, what blackmail?”

He chuckled, a warm, friendly sound. “You mistake me, I’m afraid. No, I just want to talk business.”

“Oh?” Her suspicions did not falter- she’d been double-crossed before.

“How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service,” He said, extending a hand. Marian shook it. “I’m afraid that was my brother you had the displeasure of dealing with back there.”

“I’m Hawke. This is my brother, Carver. What do you want?”

“Now, Bartrand can’t spot an opportunity even if it drilled him in the forehead with a high-powered rifle.”

“But you can.”

“I can. And I can see you’d be a real asset to this expedition.”

Hawke nodded. “Brilliant. Fancy going in there and convincing your brother of that?”

Varric pulled a face. “Bartrand only listens to one thing, and that’s his bank account. And he’s right about something- we’re full up on bodyguards.”

“So, what, we sneak in and bump off a few?”

“Believe me- a few of those louts, I’d thank you for it. But no. Bartrand and I don’t need another hireling. What we need is a partner. 50-50 split.”

“A partner,” Carver repeated suspiciously.

“Just put up a tidy sum to front the expedition- say, 500 grand, and-”

“If we had 500 grand to invest, we wouldn't be sniffing around shady-looking dwarves.” Marian pointed out.

“Ouch! But honest.” Varric said with a grin. “Kirkwall’s crawling with work. Look hard enough, and you’ll scrounge up the cash in no time. And I’ll be along to help, of course.”

“This better not be a scam.”

“Do I look like a scam artist? Wait, don’t answer that. But you want to make it big, and I have a feeling our expedition will require your… particular talents.”

“Deal, then.” Hawke said.

“Excellent,” Replied Varric. “Meet me at the Hanged Man, later? I might have another opportunity you want to pursue.”

And with that, he was gone. Carver and Marian looked at each other. It seemed their days of doing odd-jobs for cash were not quite over, but at least there was a purpose, an end to them besides putting food on Gamlen’s rickety table.

* * *

 Varric’s proposition turned out to be unexpected- they were to seek out a visiting Grey Warden and convince him to part with Deep Roads maps, which would be invaluable to the expedition.

Grey Wardens were a secretive, high-tech military organisation, recognising no government but responsible for the safety of the whole world from the Blight. Up until a year ago, most of Thedas had thought the Blight and Darkspawn were a Chantry myth, but then it had swept through Ferelden, destroying everything in its path- including the Hawkes’ hometown of Lothering. Only the actions of a small team of Grey Wardens had stopped it from engulfing the world. And now Grey Wardens were more revered than they had been for ages. Although still very much mired in internet conspiracy theories and Chantry propaganda. Most people you talked to would say the same- they didn't trust the Grey Wardens, but they had to anyway.

“So,” Hawke said to Varric, as they exited the food bank where they'd been asking about the Grey Warden. “What’s this Anders guy doing in Darktown, anyway? Seems odd.”

“I have no idea.” He replied, adjusting the long back case he always seemed to have attached to his back. Hawke hadn’t yet asked what it contained. “The lady said he was running a clinic? I wonder if Grey Wardens are in the habit of dropping out to become doctors.”

Hawke hated Darktown- although to be fair it was doubtful there was a soul who didn’t. Lowtown had its charms, at least, but Darktown was the pits of hell. Built in the underbelly of the city, Darktown comprised the warren of dimly lit tunnels and sewers, crawling with rats and those who had nowhere else to go.

Varric indicated down the stairs, and she descended warily, her stomach lurching at the scent.

“Junior sitting this one out?” Varric said into the gloom of the overpass, voice slightly drowned out by the roar of cars overhead.

“You mean Carver? He’s home with my mother.” Leandra would never forgive her even more if she brought Carver into danger. Not after Bethany.

“He ever been to Darktown?” Asked Varric.

“What, and get mugged? I’m dead if he comes home with so much as a scratch.”

“I see,” Said Varric, indicating that they should duck down an alleyway dotted with rubbish bins. “Now, Lirene said to ‘look for the lit lantern’. His words, you think? Sounds spooky enough.”

“A streetlamp, maybe?”

“Hopefully it’s a little more cryptic than that, or I'll be sorely disappointed.” Varric said. “And hold on, does that mean Junior won’t be going to the Deep Roads?”

“It means exactly that.”

Varric snorted. “Wonder what he thinks of that.”

“He doesn’t. I haven’t told him yet. I figure if it looks like Mum’s the one who won’t let him go, it won’t be me who deals the blow to his pride.”

“Such concern for your little brother! If only Bartrand would show me the same.”

Hawke laughed, then stopped as she spotted something. “Cheeky bugger, look at that.”

“The Nevarran restaurant? I don’t- _oh_.”

The restaurant in question, The White Lantern- was a dingy, uninviting little hovel. It looked entirely not the sort of place Hawke would ever eat from. A neon sign adorned the outside wall, but only one word was lit up: ‘lantern’.

Varric chuckled appreciatively, pushing the door open to reveal a dark and equally decrepit interior. Dim light from the sign and the streetlamps shone off the corners of chairs and tables that were tightly clustered throughout the room. There was no immediate sign of anyone, but Hawke felt a twinge deep in her gut that meant the Fade had been disturbed. Disturbed in a big way. Someone was using magic nearby- and it was no amateur.

“Maybe no one’s home.”

“No,” Hawke said grimly. “He’s here.” So this Warden was a mage, was he? She supposed it made sense. There were only three places a mage was allowed to exist: in the Circle, as a Grey Warden, or at the end of a Templar gun.

“Spidey sense tingling?” Varric asked.

“Magey sense, more like.” Hawke replied. “Whatever else this Anders may be, he’s a mage. Watch your back.”

“Mages can sense each other?” Varric asked, a conspiratorial note in his voice. “That would make one hell of a social network. ‘Meet hot single apostates in your area’- I can sell that.”

“Well, sign me up if you do.” Hawke joked.  “I think he’s back here.” She indicated the double doors that presumably led to the kitchen. The circular windows had been covered on the other side.

Varric nodded, and Hawke pushed open the doors, readying a barrier just in case they were attacked upon entry.

That did not happen, however.

The room- though obviously once a kitchen- had been repurposed into a medical clinic. An assortment of shabby, frightened-looking people were gathered around. Several patients groaned from makeshift camping beds and empty counter tops, all in various stages of disease or injury. In the centre of it all was Anders. His soft blonde hair was tied back, thick-framed glasses were perched on his nose, and he wore the sort of clothes that were supposed to be trendy but didn't actually make any visual sense. He would have appeared perfectly normal, were it not for the strands of light blue magic he was expertly weaving around him, concentrated on something in front of him that Hawke couldn’t see. She guessed it was probably a patient.

There was a flare of blue and Anders collapsed forward, causing an intake of breath from his audience, relief that meant the healing spell had succeeded.

“Alright, that’s all I can do for today.” Said Anders, pushing his glasses back up his nose. People began funnelling towards the exit, not paying Hawke and Varric the slightest mind.

After everyone who could walk had cleared, Anders was left leaning against a countertop, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut and glasses hanging from his hand. Hawke wasn't surprised. Healing magic was one of the most difficult schools of magic in existence- she herself had never mastered it. Her father and Bethany had both always said it was extraordinarily depleting. If Anders did this all day… Hawke couldn't even imagine how drained he must be.

They hung back, unsure whether to approach him. Hawke took this moment to examine him more closely. His face was kind, and youthful, but haggard- as if he existed on coffee and little else. She supposed he was scruffily handsome, although she wasn't really one to judge. He looked for all the world like a caffeine-deprived medical student, but at the same time…. There was something. Hawke couldn't quite put her finger on it. Something was different, something was _wrong_ about Anders.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and locked gazes with her. His demeanour shifted faster than the currents, blue magic quickly arcing over his skin.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?” He boomed, eyes flashing blue.

“Holy shit.” Said Varric in a strangled voice.

“Calm down, mate. We’re not here to threaten.” Hawke said, warily.

The magic faded, but the suspicion did not. “In that case, what do you want?”

“Some fine Nevarran cuisine would be nice.” Hawke said before she could stop herself.

Varric looked like he wanted to laugh, but he said. “Hawke, don’t make fun of the nice apostate.”

“The only Nevarran things you’ll find here are their herbal remedies.” Anders said, crossing his arms. “It’s not been a Nevarran restaurant for a while, as I’m sure you’re aware. Now, why are you really here? Who are you?”

“My name’s Hawke. This is Varric. Rumour has it you’re a Grey Warden.”

Anders snorted humourlessly. “Have the Wardens sent you to bring me back? Tell them I’m not going.” He turned around, began putting bottles and other shit into plastic bags, zipping them closed and storing them in cabinets. “Bastards made me get rid of my cat.”

“Your cat?” Varric repeated.

“Did I stutter? Poor Ser Pounce-a-Lot. He hated the Deep Roads.”

“Right. Well, that’s sort of what we wanted to talk about.”

“You want to talk about my cat?” Anders said, confused.

“No- the Deep Roads.” Hawke replied. “But we can talk about cats if you like.”

To their surprise, Anders laughed, for real this time. “Maybe I would.” Then his face darkened again. “But I’ll die a happy man if I never have to think about the blighted Deep Roads again. I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask someone else.”

“Look, we just need to find an entrance that will suit our purpose.” Varric said in his best diplomat voice. “We can pay.”

Anders considered them. At last, he nodded. “I don’t want your money, but I could be amenable to trading a favour for a favour.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. I don’t do anything involving pets or children.” Hopefully it was something straightforward, like delivery, or-

“I need to rescue a friend of mine from the Templars.”

“Are you shitting us?” Varric said loudly.

“Those are my terms.”

“Yeah, except one lousy Deep Roads entrance isn’t worth the risk of exposing myself to the Templars.” Hawke snapped.

Anders narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean, expose yourself? Are you in trouble with them?”

She couldn’t really see the point of hiding it from Anders, who was in an even more incriminating boat. It might even make him more sympathetic. She opened her palm, let a small gout of flame flare up. “ _That’s_ what I mean. It’s a massive fucking risk for me to cross the Templars. You as well, I’d imagine. Is this friend worth it?”

Anders inhaled sharply. “You’re a mage. Then you’ve got to understand- yes, he’s worth it. You have to understand. Imagine if it was someone you cared about, someone you loved.”

Hawke didn’t have to imagine. She thought of Bethany, taken away by the Templars only a month before the Blight. And then Kinloch Hold had gone silent- they hadn’t heard from her since.

It was almost like a physical rush of understanding passed between them, and tears prickled at her eyes.

“You don't have to imagine, have you?” Anders said calmly, although his eyes betrayed a flash of white-blue anger.

It occurred to her that she’d never met another apostate, other than the members of her own family. Hawke promptly berated herself for this weakness, but she couldn’t help the sudden lightness in her chest at the thought that here, here was one other who knew what it was to live so marked.

Anders sighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I have some terrain maps of the Deep Roads, plus some intel you’ll almost certainly need. And I’ll help, in any way I can.”

Marian hesitated, imagining their places reversed, her begging him to help her rescue Bethany.

Because he was, he was begging.

“Fine,” she said, the painful knot that was Bethany rising in her throat. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

 Along the way, Hawke had asked Anders more about the man they were rescuing. A Fereldan circle enchanter named Karl Thekla, recently transferred from Kinloch. Hawke wondered if there was any possibility he knew of Bethany’s fate. She would have to ask him when they met.

Anders had made no mention of the nature of their relationship, but Hawke had her suspicions. She recognised the quiet, careful omission, the wariness. She’d spoken that way for most of her life. It seemed perhaps she and Anders had something else in common.

They climbed some carpeted steps, footsteps muffled and causing little clouds of dust to rise up. Nobody was about, which was lucky.

“See him anywhere?”

Anders shook his head. Hawke could tell he was getting worried, at least a little bit. “When we find Karl, let me do the talking, alright?”

Hawke nodded.

They climbed a set of side stairs, into a shadowy alcove in which a shadowy figure stood with his back to them-

“Karl?!” Anders said in a strangled voice. Andraste, he really had been worried.

“Anders. I know you too well. I knew you would never give up.” Said the figure, in a voice that was too even, too monotone…

“What’s wrong? Why are you talking like-”

Karl turned, and they caught sight of his face.

A Chantry sun was branded into Karl’s forehead. Malcolm had told her what this meant, just so that she’d know, so that she’d know what fate might await them if the Templars caught them. He’d never told Bethany, because Bethany was young and it was not her weight to bear.

“He’s Tranquil,” Hawke said, quietly. A fate worse than death, her father had said, and one that she must fight against with everything she had.

“I was too rebellious, like you. The Templars said I had to be… made an example of.”

“No!” Anders’ voice was ripped with pain.

“How else will mages ever learn to control themselves?” Karl said, utterly placid in the face of Anders’ grief. “You’ll understand soon, Anders.” He pointed behind them. 

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Marian said under her breath. Templars had been quietly surrounding them all the while.

Anders was shaking his head, taking steps backwards. But his pain seemed to be slowly giving way to rage, and it was a fury unlike anything Hawke had ever withheld. He didn’t seem remotely human anymore, as blue light crackled from his skin like living flame.

He didn’t look ready to back down. Hawke weighed her chances of making a run for it. Not excellent, but better than rotting in the Gallows for the rest of her life.

“You shall never take another mage as you took him!” Roared Anders, voice suddenly fathoms deeper and decibels louder, cascading through the echoey Chantry.

Alright, what the fuck. Hawke had never heard of magic anything like this. Unless he was-

And then a Templar was trying to grab her and she rocketed into action, twisting gravity so that the Templars nearest to her flew up to smash against the ceiling and came crashing back down. Hey, if the Chantry didn’t build such damn tall buildings, this wouldn’t be so painful, would it?

Meanwhile, pure power was rolling off Anders in waves, waves that shattered Templars left and right. Blue fire rained to clean up the last few, and then there was nothing, just Anders and Karl and Hawke surrounded by bodies. Amazingly, they’d won. It hadn’t even been a fight.

“Anders, what did you do?” They whirled to see Karl, who was blinking as if he’d woken from a long slumber. And his voice… “It’s like... you brought a piece of the Fade into this world.”

“I thought Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever.” Hawke said uncertainly.

“They are- this is-“ Anders looked at her helplessly, then at Karl.

“You cannot imagine it, Anders. All the colour, all the music in the world- gone.” He looked down, wrung his hands.

Suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something deeply personal, Hawke stepped away to rifle through the Templars pockets for cash. Most of them had wallets on them, and most of them were well-off bastards, so it was a decent take.

She burnt with curiosity, though. It was obvious that Karl was better, that he was… not Tranquil. But that was impossible, there was no cure. Everyone knew that.

Unless, of course, that had all been a big Chantry fib.

“-it’s fading! _Please,_ kill me before I forget again.”

“Karl, no!”

At the sound of their raised voices, Hawke returned to them, concerned.

“Hawke…. have you got a gun?” Anders said, quietly.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Said Karl, again in that horrible emotionless voice.

She handed it to him wordlessly, and even she flinched as the gunshot echoed around the Chantry, and blood spangled the walls.

“We should get out of here,” She said. “Before more Templars arrive.”

* * *

 “So, what the fuck _was_ that?” Hawke was perched on Anders’ operating table, popping open a diet coke. “The angry blue super-Anders, I mean.”

“It’s….me.” He said after a long while. His fingers tapped a beat into his leg. Hawke stared at them for want of somewhere better to look.

“And what are you, exactly?”

“When I was a Warden, I befriended a spirit of Justice trapped outside the Fade.”

“Like a demon, you mean.” She eyed him warily.

“No. In the Fade, there are demons, yes, who represent our sins, but there’s also spirits who embody our virtues. Justice is one of them.”

“Like a friendly spirit? And you just figured, what, come on over and set up shop in my body, it’ll be a party?”

“It’s not like that,” Anders explained. “He was trapped outside the Fade, and in order to survive he had to find a body. I figured a willing host, a friend… had to be better than playing the demon and haunting a corpse, right?  We were going to work together, bring justice, free the mages…”

Ah. An idealist. It was strange to Hawke, who had long since given up on the idea of freedom. She’d resigned herself to being hunted until she was caught or she dropped dead. And if she was ever caught, she’d escape, and it would start all over again.

“Look, I know this is…. a lot,” He said quietly. “But it’s my cause, and it’s worthy, and I’m going to keep fighting. And Justice too.”

“Best of luck to the both of you, then.” Marian climbed down from the table, tossing the now empty coke can into the nearby bin. “In the meantime, I think you owe me some files.”

“Oh- yeah,” Anders got up and extracted a battered laptop from one of the cupboards. He powered it up, tapped a few keys, then said: “Email? Or I can transfer them onto a hard drive, if you like.”

“Hard drive, please.” She didn’t exactly have an email address, or a computer, but Varric probably did. That or she could print them out at the library.

“Alright,” A few seconds later, he handed her a memory stick, which she pocketed.

“Thanks,” Hawke said, heading for the door.

“Don’t lose them,” He said. “They’re valuable, and you payed a lot for them.”

“Right. I’ll see you around, then.” And with a final nod she left, wondering what the fuck she had stumbled into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in this chapter by Broods.


	3. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is making progress towards funding her Deep Roads expedition. Still looking for opportunities around Kirkwall, she meets a couple of new characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces Isabela!!! And Fenris, but Isabela is more important. As you'll see I hurried the course of the romance along a bit, although the majority of it will still take place in Acts 2 and 3 like in canon. Also, here is a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/annebonny/a-lady-of-war) for this AU.

_Uncover our heads and reveal our souls_   
_We were hungry before we were born_

* * *

 

“You’re a miracle worker, Hawke, you know that?” Varric said, wiggling the memory stick into his computer.

“I do know that, actually.” Marian returned with a grin. They were in Varric’s room at the morbidly named Hanged Man, a local pub only a couple of streets over from Gamlen’s flat. Varric had been renting long enough to completely transform the room into his own. For all intents and purposes, it was his home.

Which was excellent for Hawke, who adored the Hanged Man. Alcohol, music, cute serving girls, the stench of life being pissed and drunk away- the Hanged Man was ever the quintessential melting pot of Lowtown life. Not so for Carver, who wore a permanent expression of distaste while inside. He also, to Marian’s amusement, never seemed to know how to react when the serving girls tried to chat him up, so all in all the Hanged Man was a fun place to be.

“This is excellent. More than we hoped for, actually.” Varric lifted his mug of beer, toasting her. “I knew you were a solid investment.”

“Damn straight,” Marian replied, grinning. “This good, then? ‘Cause I think I’ll head downstairs for a bit if I’m done here.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Varric said. “And tell someone to send up a plate of chips, will you?”

Not mentioning the fact that she’d probably forget, Hawke left his room and made her way downstairs. The usual crowd was hanging about, but there were a few new faces interspersed among them. Sailors, Hawke realised presently. She wondered why they weren’t occupying their usual seedier dives down at the docks.

There was a bit of commotion going on near the bar, and Hawke pushed through to see what was going on.

The commotion was a woman, an attractive one with dark skin and loud gold costume jewellery, and impressively little clothing on. Three or so rough-looking men circled her like wolves. She seemed utterly unconcerned, however, taking a hearty swig of cheap beer.

“We’ll get our money’s worth, bitch!” Spat out one.

With a roll of her amber eyes, the woman turned to face him. “Tell you what, Lucky,” Said she, sounding rather bored. “Since the information you gave me was worth nothing, _that’s_ what I’ll pay you.”

This didn’t seem to sit well with Lucky- he grabbed at her wrist, only to be met with a murderous right hook and a cool twisty move Hawke had no name for. Faster than blinking, the woman had him in a chokehold, smashing her beer bottle on the bar and holding the jagged glass up to his jugular.

“Tell me, Lucky,” She purred into his ear. “Is this worth dying for?”

He squeaked something along the negatives, and she released him, laughing as he and his thugs scampered away with their tails between their legs.

“Didn’t think so,” She smirked triumphantly, turning back to her drink as the crowd dispersed. The show was over.

Hawke was intrigued, however, and slid into the stool next to the woman. “Quite a show,” She remarked.

“Oh, you should see my after-hours special.” The woman turned towards Hawke, eyes raking her up and down unabashedly.  “I haven’t seen you here before, have I? Watch yourself. You’re nothing but tits and arse to the men in this place, and they won’t hesitate to grab at both.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Hawke said, waving over the bartender. She ordered a beer for both herself and the woman.

“Cheers. I’m Isabela. Previously Captain Isabela, of the Siren’s Call. Unfortunately my bloody ship got impounded, so looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

“Lucky me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Isabela grinned at her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, you might be just the sort of person I’m looking for. How’d you like to help me with a little problem I’ve got? There’s cash in it for you.”

“Depends,” Hawke said lightly. “This anything to do with those wankers you showed out?”

Isabela withdrew slightly, probably realising Hawke wasn’t going to be a total pushover. “Yeah,” She said finally. “Old… co-worker, let’s say, we had a bit of a quibble, and now he’s out for blood. My blood, if you want to get technical. Possibly some innocent bystanders too. I’ve agreed to have it out with him tonight, and I’d like someone capable to watch my back.”

“What makes you think I’m capable?”

“You have a way about you, sweet thing. Besides, you’ve got a gun in your waistband. Can you use it?”

“I can,” Hawke said.

“Perfect,” Isabela replied. “We’ll meet off the Hightown Market square about five ‘til midnight.”

Hawke pulled a coaster towards her and scribbled her mobile number with the pen she always kept in her pocket. “Ring me if anything comes up.”

“I’ll do that,” Said Isabela as she took the coaster. “If anything comes up.” She was apparently one of those people gifted with the ability to make everything sound dirty.

Hawke picked up her leather jacket and turned to go, but was stopped by a warm hand on the crook of her elbow.

“Hey, you didn’t even tell me your name.”

“It’s Hawke.”

“Hawke,” Repeated Isabela slowly, as if she were savouring the word. “Guess I’ll see you.”

Hawke smiled, shrugged on her jacket and left the Hanged Man.

As she stepped out into the smoggy Lowtown air, her phone gave two short buzzes that meant she had a text message.

 

> **Athenril** : said id pass work along if i had it. check out this contact, his names anso and he’s got something for you if you want it. x athenril.

There followed a phone number. Hawke looked at the little x next to Athenril’s name pensively. Whatever her feelings about her former boss, the job was worth looking into.

Marian climbed the dingy steps that led to Gamlen’s flat, copying Anso’s number into her contacts, thinking of seeing whether Carver was alright to come with her on this one. She opened the door, and found-

“Anders?”

“Hey, there you are.” He said. He looked even more hipster-y than usual today, a beanie perched on his head and a paper cup of coffee in his grip.

“Here I am,” replied Marian, tossing her jacket up on a peg. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a job that might interest you.”

“You as well?”

Anders shrugged. His eyes flicked towards the kitchen, then away. “Is it okay to talk here?”

She followed his eyes and found her younger brother glaring suspiciously at Anders from the doorway.

“Oh, that’s just my little brother. Speak freely.”

Carver scowled, as if he were unhappy being reduced to ‘just her little brother’.

“Right, well,” Anders opened his shoulder bag and rooted within it for a moment, extracting a notepad. “You heard about Starkhaven? The Circle there burned down. They’ve been transporting the mages here to the Gallows. Except, a bunch of them managed to slip the Templar leash.”

“Where are they now?”

“Hiding on the coast.” Anders said.

“And you want me to spring them.”

“I would, except- I think they’re blood mages.” Anders said.

Hawke blinked, looked down. “So if they’re evil blood mages who don’t deserve freedom, why don’t you go to the police?”

Anders laughed weakly. “Are you joking? And tell them, what, hi I’m a dangerous wanted apostate running an illegal magical clinic down in Darktown, please arrest me and send me to the Templars? No thanks.”

“We’ve got a friends on the force.” Carver said, jaw twitching as it always did when magey things came up. “She’s cool with my sister being… you know…”

“A lesbo.” Supplied Hawke, earning an extra-special glare from Carver.

“Right. Well, this could be bad. Not just for them. Every proven instance of blood magic only makes Meredith crack down harder.” Anders said. “Imagine what’ll happen if the Templars find them and they fight back. I’ve been in contact with them, trying to get them to leave Kirkwall, but they won’t budge. I thought you might have more success.”

“So where’s the money part of this equation?” Hawke said. “I mean, go mages and everything, but I do have a family to feed and an expedition to fund.”

“No, I understand,” Anders said. “I’ve worked out a deal with their families in Starkhaven- you know, some of them are nobility. They’ll pay for the safe, Templar-free relocation of their relatives.”

Hmm. It was worth a go, at any rate.

 “I appreciate it, Anders. I’ll take a look.” Marian gave him a small smile.

He returned it, then shouldered his bag and left.

“Are you mental?” Carver burst out once he was gone.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Hawke replied.

“I know who that was, you know.” Said her brother. “The ‘Healer of Darktown’. The other Fereldans here talk about him.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, he’s Kirkwall’s most wanted! What are you playing at, hanging around with him? Do you _want_ to bring the Templars down on us?”

“Wasn’t on the agenda.” Said Hawke. “’Spose this isn’t a good time to tell you me and him killed about a dozen Templars in the Chantry last night? It was a formative moment in our friendship.”

Carver looked at her as though she’d sprouted tentacles. “What is wrong with you? You couldn’t be any more stupid if you hung a sign around your neck saying “I’m a dangerous apostate”.”

“Good idea! Or maybe a tattoo. I’ve been thinking I should get another tattoo.” She touched the words on her neck (‘that which is best in me, not that which is most base’). “I don’t think this one is obvious enough.”

“Andraste’s tits, will you be serious for a second?” Carver snarled. “Everything’s a bloody joke to you, isn’t it? Oh, no, never mind that you let Bethany get taken away by Templars, you’ll just keep being as reckless as ever, won’t you?”

“Oh, here’s the part where Carver blames me for everything that’s gone wrong in his pathetic little life. What joy.” Hawke rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the remarkably well-aimed lance he’d just thrown at her heart.

“I’m not blaming you for _everything_ ,” He shot back. “Just Bethany.”

“Really?” Marian said, keeping a sneer on her face even though it hurt, his words hurt more than she’d ever given her younger brother credit for. “Because some days it seems like everything’s because of me.” She adopted a high-pitched, mocking tone. “‘Oh no, daddy never loved me because he was too busy with his mage daughters!’; ‘Oh no, Peaches never looked twice at me because she fancied my sister instead!’; ‘Oh no, I feel like an impotent mockery of manhood because my sister’s the one everyone cares about!’”

“I don’t sound like that,” Carver said indignantly, face working furiously. Honestly, he should have known better than to play the insult game with his sister. “And you have no idea what it’s like, being the only normal one in a house full of mages. You and Bethany have dragged me down my whole life. I can’t do anything for myself, I could never be _special_ in case I brought attention to you two.”

“How convenient,” Hawke replied drily. “When are you going to stop moping and blaming everything on everyone else and realise it’s just a matter of getting out there and doing your own shit?”

“Maybe I _will_ go out there and do my own shit.” Carver snapped.

“Maybe you will.” Marian said, sighing. As easy as it was to incense her younger brother, she found at the moment all she wanted to do was stop bickering. “I’m going to make a call.” She said, and shut herself in the small room she shared with her mother.

Anso’s job turned out to be very straightforward- he just needed a package retrieved from an apartment in the alienage. Hawke told him she’d take the job, then hung up, her argument with Carver still hanging on her mind.

“Hey,” She said, knocking on the door he’d barred himself behind. “You in there?”

“No,” He said.

She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open anyway. He was sitting on Gamlen’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, bouncing a tennis ball against the floor and catching it, over and over again.

“Look,” Marian said. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“Whatever.”

“I’m going to the alienage for a job.” She said. “Wanna come?”

He looked up, the tennis ball dribbling from his hand onto the floor. “You want me to go with you?” He said, surprised.

“Yeah, peace offering. Come on.”

He nodded, got to his feet. “Let me just grab my stuff. Then I’m right with you.”

* * *

 The address Anso had given her was on the second floor of a grotty apartment building in the Alienage. Their part of Lowtown may not have been much to look at, but the Alienage made it seem downright posh. Crumbling buildings, graffiti, and rubbish were strewn everywhere. And the people there, the elves, all pretty depressing.

Lothering had been too small for a proper alienage, and there had only been a handful of elven families. She’d worked with groups of elves before, including Athenril’s organisation, but never had she seen so many in one place. Her stomach tightened at the way they were all living in poverty, despair…so much for the “Free” Marches.

It made sense, then, why the two humans received so many unwelcoming glares from the resident elves as they picked their way around the massive painted tree in the centre of the alienage.

“The mailbox for 2B, Anso said.” Hawke consulted the note she’d jotted down just to be sure.

They climbed the stairs, and Carver opened the mailbox, withdrawing a cardboard package. “It’s pretty light.” He said, weighing it in his palm. “Doesn’t feel like there’s anything in here.”

Marian snatched it from him and shook it next to her ear. “Maybe his mum sent her love in a box.” She joked.

 “Or maybe, Anso’s shit isn’t in here and this was a bloody waste of time.”

“I’m sure our dwarven friend will be terribly broken up to know he cut into your valuable brooding time.”

“Shut up.” Carver said. He pulled out a penknife, slit open the packing tape, pulled the flaps of the box apart. “Empty,” he confirmed.

“Guess we have no choice but to go back to Anso and tell him.”

They moved back into the dingy hallway of the apartment, but suddenly Carver was grabbed and shoved ferociously up against a wall.

“Wow, I wasn’t actually expecting to get mugged.” Hawke said. Generally, she tried not to believe rumours and stereotypes, but they’d barely been in the alienage an hour, come on.

But their attacker turned out to be a human, accompanied by another human. Both looked very out of place in Kirkwall, let alone in the alienage.

“That’s not the elf.” Said one of them.

“You’re looking to attack an elf and you manage to jump the only two humans in the entire alienage? Impressive.” Hawke said sarcastically.

Carver said something, muffled by where his face was pressed against the wall.

“Shut up!” Said the other guy. “We was told to grab whoever comes in the building and looks in that mailbox.”

Oh, this was just great. That dwarf had a lot to answer for.

Carver thrashed, probably meaning “get a move on and help me!”

Marian let out a burst of Force Magic- the thug holding Carver flew off him, cracking his spine across the banister and tumbling down the flight of stairs. The other she pulled towards the earth with a sickening crunch.

Carver rubbed the side of his face gingerly. “Could have done that sooner.”

“You’ll live. Let’s go.” They hurried down the stairs.

But the door slammed open before they could leave- another bloke strode in. Seeing the prone bodies of his cronies, his eyes bulged in anger. “I don’t know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here…”

“I’m starting to think so too,” muttered Hawke.

“I want everyone in the building, now!” He shouted over his shoulder.

The only response was a gurgle, then a large heavy object was thrown over the threshold- a corpse, fountaining blood, bowling the man to the ground.

“Your men are dead,” Said a voice, low and menacing. “And your trap has failed. I suggest you run back to your boss while you can.” An odd-looking elf stepped into the room. He had white hair and brilliant white tattoos, unlike any elf Hawke had ever seen.

The thug pushed the body off him and got to his feet, spitting angrily onto the ground.

“Silence, slave!” He raised a gun, but at breakneck speed, the elf swung forwards, hand bunched into a fist, flaring with ice blue light, and plunged his hand right through the man’s chest. The elf twisted, pulled out, and the man keeled over.

“I am _not_ a slave.” He growled.

Marian and Carver both took a step backwards. She had never seen magic like this before, magic that let you just pass through solid objects.

The glow faded and so, apparently, did the rage. “I apologise,” He said, calmly. His voice was polite, accent educated, like he’d studied at one of the posh universities in the North. “When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so… numerous.”

“I like to know what sort of thing I’m getting into before I agree to a job.” Marian said. “Next time you want my help, you just need to ask.” Preferably with money.

“That remains to be seen.” Replied the elf, bending over to rummage in the guy’s pockets.

“Uh,” This elf made her nervous; she’d never seen anything like that before. “Interesting talent you have there, are you some sort of jacked up battlemage?”

“I’m no mage!” The elf whirled on them, both retreated several steps. He seemed to realise he frightened them and softened again. “I… apologise. It was a natural assumption, given… given what I am. My name is Fenris. These were Hunters from the Tevinter Imperium, seeking to reclaim a magister’s lost property, namely myself.”

Marian and Carver exchanged a glance. There were always dark rumours surrounding the Tevinter Imperium, all about slavery and blood sacrifices. Marian had always been a bit sceptical, given the Chantry’s propensity for spewing bullshit about anyone they didn’t like. It seemed that the rumours were true enough on this count, however.

“I need your help again, if you’re willing.” Said Fenris, straightening. He had a phone in his grasp, presumably belonging to one of the Hunters.

“I’m willing if I’m payed.”

“You will be.” Fenris nodded. “The magister owns a penthouse apartment here in the city. I’d like to confront him, but cannot do so alone.”

“Alright, I’m in.” Hawke said.

He held out the phone he’d taken. “Put your number in this phone.” He said. “I will call you when I have further details.”

“I prefer that Anders guy,” Said Carver as they walked home. “Mage or not, at least he doesn’t have some scary blue super-power.”

“Uh,” Marian said. “Right.”

* * *

“There you are. I’ve been here for hours. Nobody’s shown.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Marian said, drawing closer to Isabela in the gloom of a Hightown alley. “Had a bit of a hold up in the alienage.”

“Ah, those elves. Always up to something or another.”

“Humans, actually.”

“Well, those are even worse.” Isabela said with a grin. “Tell me about it later, will you? I think someone’s coming.”

Sure enough, a pair of rough-looking raiders stepped out of the dark. They looked the sort who always lurked around the docks, and whom you probably wanted to avoid.

“Hayder’s not there.” Isabela hissed.

“There’s the bitch.” Snarled one raider. “Gut her!”

Isabela rolled her eyes, drew two small pistols- blindingly fast- and both raiders were on the ground oozing blood.

“Shit,” Said Marian.

“See if there’s anything on them that tells us where Hayder went.” Isabela suggested.

Hawke located a battered mobile phone and a wallet, and tossed the first to Isabela.

“Feel free to take all their cash.” Said Isabela, clicking madly through the phone.

“You don’t want any?” Hawke asked, pocketing the bills.

“Nah. Consider it extra payment. Hey, got something here. Says here they were supposed to meet behind the Chantry.” She showed Hawke. “Can’t believe he sent two thugs to finish me off. I’d be insulted, if I didn’t know he was such a coward.”

Hawke nodded, stuck her hands in her pocket as they walked.

“So, you’re Fereldan, eh? You’ve got that look about you.” Isabela commented.

“Yeah. My parents were Kirkwallers though,” Hawke replied. “We came back here about a year ago.”

“Can’t imagine why. This place is a regular pisshole.”

“It’s alright, really. I mean, where else can you walk down the street under giant statues of mutilated slaves?”

Isabela laughed. “Good point.”

Hawke looked up at the Chantry towering above, regal and ominous and oppressive. “You know, in Ferelden the Chantry is still shite, but at least it pretends to help the poor?”

“I’m Rivaini.” Isabela shrugged. “We hear horror stories about the Chantry in our cribs.”

“I did too. Well, Templars, mostly. My dad ran away from the Circle here.”

“He’s an apostate?”

“Was,” Marian corrected as they rounded the building. “Someone’s there. Look.”

Leaning against some dustbins and smoking was, presumably, Hayder. They approached him warily.

“Isabela,” He said, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out under the heel of his boot. “Should’ve known you’d fine me here. Castillon isn’t pleased one bit about that stunt you pulled, losing the relic and his precious cargo.”

“They weren’t cargo, Hayder, they were people!” Isabela snapped. “And tell Castillon I’ll get him his precious relic.”

She thought about it, then brightened. "You know what? I'll tell the bastard myself." And then her pistols were out again, impossibly fast, and with twin bangs two of Hayder's thugs hit the floor.

"Nice," Said Hawke, as Hayder staggered back, soaked in the blood of his fellows.

"Now show me what _you_ can do, baby." Isabela said, suggestively.

"Happy to oblige," Hawke grinned at her, raised a fist, creating a pulsing prison of energy around Hayder, shrinking and shrinking in on him painfully.

Isabela's eyes flicked over her, calculating. "You don't see that every day," she remarked.

Hawke inverted the prison, ripping Hayder apart at the seams. 

"Grisly, but I suppose he got his just desserts. Arsehole." Isabela stepped over him lightly, returning to Hawke's side. She wiped her forehead. "Well, that was fun. I suppose you've got questions, eh?"

"What cargo was he talking about?"

"It's like it sounds. Was doing an escort job along Rialto Bay, and I got a bad feeling halfway through. I boarded the freighter to find all the crates were filled with people. Loads of them, elves and humans. Mostly women. Children even."

"And you let them go?"

"Believe it or not," Isabela shrugged ruefully. "Stealing this relic was s'posed to be my payment for screwing Castillon over, but I think he probably just wanted me dead. Only that would be letting me off easy, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, about that relic...?"

"Haven't the foggiest, darling." Isabela said. "It was locked in a crate marked 'do not open', so I obeyed instructions for once. 'Till I lost it, obviously. And got impounded."

Hawke regarded her pensively. "Quite the story." She said.

"Isn't it? I'd be happy to discuss it with you further, in _great detail."_ Isabela replied. She brushed up against Hawke. "I've got a room in the Hanged Man, if you're looking for.... company, later." She ran a finger down Hawke's jawline, then turned and started to walk away.

Hawke watched her go, mouth a little dry.

* * *

In the morning, Hawke visited one of her least favourite places in Kirkwall- the police precinct. Aveline had called at fuck-you in the morning to say she had a job for Hawke.

"Alright, Aveline, you have something worth doing?" Hawke said, sitting in the comfy desk chair and grabbing a donut.

"It’s a drugs bust. Undercover work." Aveline said. "Jeven handed me this assignment informally, said it was a doozy, but I don't know… something seems off. I'd rather there be two of us there, just in case."

"Isn't this a job for cops, not civilians?" Hawke said through a mouthful of donut. "Am I even allowed to be doing this?"

"We're spread pretty thin these days. Enlisting temporary help is expected from time to time." Aveline said, eyeing Hawke's boots on her pristine desk. "I'll meet you there at nine tomorrow. Don't be late."

"Am I ever?" Hawke said, hand fluttering to her chest in mock outrage.

"You were late to two of your arrangements in the past week."

"Still spying on me, I see." Hawke said. "Your little web of information hasn't picked up anything... useful lately, has it?"

"Don't even try, Hawke." Aveline said, torn between amusement and consternation.

"One of these days you'll be frustrated enough to go for it."

"You may be right." She sighed. "I mean, _honestly_! I'm just sitting on my arse here filing paperwork and eating jelly donuts. Meanwhile, crime is happening out there, and I'm powerless to stop it."

"At least the donuts are good. And polyester really suits you. How's the coffee?"

"Bit shit, really."

Hawke laughed. "See you tomorrow, Aveline."

"Don't get into trouble."

"Trouble, me?" Hawke said, grinning. "I'm the picture of straight-laced."

* * *

"There you are," Fenris seemed to melt into existence from the shadows, making Carver and Marian jump.

They stood at the foot of one of the swankiest residences in Hightown, a towering building block of apartments. Some pricey, famous Antivan architect, Calabaza or something like that, had been hired to design the exterior- it looked something like a twisty white dildo. And Danarius, magister and slaver, owned the penthouse, at the very top. Like a dildo-within-a-dildo.

"You realise this shit has got to be crawling with security." Hawke said. "This isn't the middle ages."

Fenris nodded. "I have arranged matters." He said. "We'll be using a private lift around the back that only the staff use. Cameras should be down. And I doubt Danarius uses _people_ for his own personal security."

"You better be sure about this." Carver grumbled. His hood was pulled low over his eyes.

"I am." The elf said it without hesitation.

"Off we go, then." Hawke said.

They entered the lift with a passcard Fenris had procured from somewhere, and he pressed the button for 22- the top floor. The journey up was quiet, until Carver burst out:

"What did you mean, doesn't use people? Does he have guard dogs?"

"Guard _demons_ , I'm guessing." Fenris spat. "Mages will use whatever tool they can to achieve their ends, no matter how depraved."

"Sheesh," Marian said under her breath.

"You have a problem with mages?" Carver said aggressively.

"You two should get along famously then," Marian said quickly. "Let's all hate mages together once the job's finished, alright?"

Fenris looked at her suspiciously. She really didn't want to end up with a glowing blue fist through her heart, so she thought it best to say nothing of her own magical talent at the moment.

The lift dinged and the doors opened up onto a lushly carpeted hallway.

"Danarius's apartments." Fenris said with a sneer.

"So, where-" Hawke began to say, but was interrupted by a dark, oily mass rising from the carpet. It coalesced into vaguely humanoid shape, arms clawing at them and ghastly mouth stretched in a wordless scream.  A demon.

Fenris charged forward, flaring blue. He ripped through the demon entirely.

"Come out, Danarius!" He roared. "Your pets cannot stop us."

"Great, now all his little demony friends know we're coming."

"They are no match for me." Fenris said.

Hawke looked at Carver, then shrugged. "Lead on, then."

They searched the penthouse. Occasionally another demon would rise, and Fenris would kill it easily. There was no sign of Danarius, or in fact any people at all. Only dead bodies strewn about the place.

"I don't think he's here, Fenris." Hawke said. "A magister would have considerably tighter security. Wards, for one thing. Pentacles rigged to explode if the wrong person steps on them."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it." Fenris said.

"I read a lot. On the internet." Hawke lied.

"I have never used the internet. I don't know what it says about magisters."

"It’s very informative." Hawke said, then "Look out!"

This demon was different, taller, more skeletal, radiating pure horrible power. Marian recognised it as an arcane horror.

Fenris rushed towards it, but was knocked back by the impenetrable barrier it had raised.

" _Festis bei umo canavarum_." Fenris swore, getting to his feet. "We must break it down."

"That'll take ages." Carver said, with a significant look at his sister.

Hawke took a breath, summoned her energies, and cast a cleansing spell.

The shimmery barrier melted away like butter, and Carver fired two rounds into the thing's chest. Fenris smashed into it out of nowhere, sealing the deal.

"It never ends." He said, looking at Hawke. He did not sound particularly murderous, but neither did he sound happy. "I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul."

"I think they make an ointment for that," Hawke snarked. Probably unwisely.

Fenris did not seem to find it amusing. “And now, I find myself in the company of yet another mage,” he said. “I should have realised sooner what you really are. Tell me then, what manner of mage are you? What is it you want?”

"Uh, want?" Hawke thought about it- what _did_ she want? A cheeseburger sounded great just about then, but the elf was probably after something more meaningful. "I just want to get by, I guess."

"Yet I have seen many crimes done in the name of survival," said Fenris.

"If you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me." Snarled Carver.

Fenris spared him the barest of glances. "I imagine I must appear ungrateful. If so, I apologise. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"Apology accepted." Hawke said nervously.

Fenris frowned. "You have done me a great service. If you ever have need of me, I shall remain here."

"Great, uh, thanks," Hawke said. "We should probably get going though. If that's alright."

"Do not let me keep you," said Fenris, and wandered back into the darkness of the apartment. Marian and Carver stared after him for a moment, still a bit shocked.

On the lift down Marian nudged Carver. "Hey, nice shooting with that Arcane Horror. Have you been practising?"

"A bit. Aveline lets me use the shooting range up at the precinct sometimes." Carver said, looking pleased with himself.

What the hell, she hadn't been eviscerated by Fenris, and Carver had even defended her against him. She was feeling generous with the compliments.

They walked to Lowtown together in oddly companionable silence. As soon as they neared Gamlen's place, Hawke stopped.

"Listen, I'm going to the Hanged Man, to... take care of some stuff. With Varric. I probably won't be home all night." She lied.

"Sure, whatever." Carver said, and they parted ways.

* * *

 Hawke entered the Hanged Man, warm and still alive with people, unlike the streets outside. Isabela was, as expected, propping up the bar, sipping a tequila sunset. Hawke touched her shoulder lightly.

"Hawke," Isabela said, a grin unfurling on her face as she turned. "Fancy seeing you here."

"We met here." Hawke reminded her.

"Good point." Isabela said. "Are you having something?"

"Yeah, go on. Vodka tonic."

When the bartender placed Hawke's drink in front of her, Isabela said: "So tell me more about yourself, Hawke."

"Do you really wanna know?"

"I'm asking, so presumably."

"Alright," Hawke said with a shrug. "I'm from Ferelden originally, as you know. Lothering, this little shithole in the South. It got overrun by Darkspawn, though, so we left and came here. That was a year ago."

"I heard about that Blight." Isabela said. "But I was sailing Rialto Bay at the time, and I'm fairly certain Darkspawn can't swim. Do you miss Ferelden?"

"Honestly? Not really. Here's as good as anywhere."

"Don't like to be tied down, do you?"

"Depends on who's tying the knots."

"You know, sailors are highly skilled at tying knots. I know _so_ many different kinds."

"You'll have to show me some time."

Isabela laughed, a merry sound. She was a little flushed with alcohol, and Maker's Breath, that just made her more attractive to Hawke. "It's a promise," She said. "In the meantime, why don't you tell me about this magic business of yours."

"I don't know what there is to tell. I'm an apostate, have been my whole life." Hawke shrugged. "It comes in handy, though."

"Well, living on the run suits you if you ask me. It adds to your mystery." Isabela said, running a finger over the rim of her almost-empty glass.

“Mystery?” Hawke had by this time accrued the pleasant befuddlement that came after the first few drinks.

“Mm. You already were mysterious, all dark and tall and gorgeous. The lifelong persecution just makes it better.” Isabela popped a maraschino cherry into her mouth in the dirtiest way possible. "Would you like to go somewhere more... private?" She asked, leaning forward. "I just realised, there may be Templars listening in. The place might be bugged, you never know these days."

Hawke laughed, deposited some money to pay for her drinks. Isabela didn't, presumably because she had unwisely started a bar tab.

"You should just ask Varric to put you on his tab." Hawke suggested.

"Varric?"

"A friend of mine who lives here. I'll introduce you sometime."

"But not right now," Isabela said with a glimmer in her eye. She removed the keycard for her door from her pocket, swiping it across the reader. "I want you all to myself right now."

When the door had shut behind them, Hawke pressed Isabela against the wall and her lips against Isabela's in a desperate, hungry kiss.

"Aren't you eager?" Isabela noted as Hawke started to undo the buttons on her white blouse.

"Had a really long day," Hawke mumbled.

"Tell me about it," Isabela said.

Hawke finally got her shirt open, pulled a sleeve down one arm, then the other, revealing leagues of freckly brown skin.

 She kissed Isabela's shoulder, then her lips again, fingers sliding around her bare back to unhook her bra. Isabela moaned as it came free, pulling at the straps and tossing the tangle of black lace across the room. She pulled insistently at the edge of Hawke's shirt, and Hawke obediently pulled it over her head and let it fall to the ground.

"I like a girl with tattoos," Isabela said, tracing the words on Hawke's neck. "What's this mean?"

"It's something my dad used to say," Hawke replied. Naturally, she didn't much fancy talking about the late Malcolm at that very moment. "There's one on my back, too. A dragon."

"Very nice," Isabela touched the streaks of red that curled around Marian's hips- the tail of the dragon. "But enough talk. More… moaning."

Hawke laughed, running her hands over Isabela's breasts and down her belly. She pressed kisses to the burning skin of Isabela's collarbone, then rose back up to kiss her lips again, hands busily undoing the fly of Isabela's shorts. (Shorts in winter? Madness.) Hawke shoved her hand down there sort of unceremoniously, began working a finger, then another, until Isabela was trembling and moaning nicely above.

"Ooh! Do that again," Isabela breathed, nails scrabbling at the smooth wood of the wall for something to grab. Finding nothing, she laid her palms flat against it instead, body arching into Hawke's touch.

Hawke grinned, buried her face in Isabela's neck. Her bare skin smelt wonderful, like sea spray and storms, and Hawke slowly let herself get lost in this sailor, this woman who shivered and sighed at her fingertips like she was made for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics in this chapter by Fever Ray.


	4. The Way it Should Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline has a job for Hawke, and is not impressed when Hawke brings her troublesome friends along. Nevertheless, they discover a shady plot within the ranks of the Kirkwall Police Department.

_Cause we used to be the cool kids_   
_You were old school, I was on the new shit_   
_We were addicted to the blueprint_   
_But we threw it in the flames and now we're never gonna trace it_

* * *

 

Hawke awoke to a muted buzzing against her ribcage. She blinked at her foggy surroundings as they coalesced into a room in the Hanged Man. Not Varric's, it was in too great a state of disorder for that. Clothes were strewn all over the place, the bedclothes were half off the bed- it was like a whirlwind had happened in there. Right. Isabela- a whirlwind if Hawke had ever met one.

 

She felt the vibration again, and raised herself up in order to feel around for whatever was causing it. Her phone. Hawke held it above her head, squinting at the blindingly bright display. _Aveline, calling._

"Shit," Hawke groaned as she caught sight of the time. 10:30. She was an hour and a half late for Aveline's stupid meeting. She clicked 'answer' and gingerly held the phone up to her ear.

"Hawke? Where the hell are you?"

"Aveline? Look, uh, sorry. I'll be right there.”

"I called your house and your mum said you hadn't been home all night. Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I'm, uh. At the Hanged Man."

"Seriously, Hawke?" Aveline's disapproving glare was audible through the phone. "Get your lazy arse over here, I don't care how hungover you are." She hung up with an aggressive click.

"Girlfriend?"

Hawke started, not having realised Isabela was awake. "Not even close," She said with a snort, imagining Aveline's face if anyone tried to insinuate she was dating Hawke. "Bossy family friend. I'm supposed to help her out with a job. She's a copper, and you know that lot can't do anything without help...should pay well, though."

"Is it dangerous?" Isabela said, eyes sparking. She was sitting up against the headrest, duvet brushing her midriff and hair wild and messy down her shoulders.

"Probably," Hawke said, leaning over to kiss her before beginning the hunt for her clothes.

"Can I come?"

Hawke turned to look at her, surprised.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You just seem to find the most interesting fights, that's all. And I sort of need the cash, if it’s being doled out." Isabela said, pushing the covers off her legs and getting to her feet. She opened the suitcase which had been messily jammed into a cupboard, extracting a white tube top and some spangly gold shorts from within. Did this girl own any long trousers?

Hawke had located her own clothes and pulled them on, now approaching the mirror to try and do something about her hair. It wasn't like bringing Isabela along wasn't obvious enough, but she didn't really want Aveline to see her looking like she'd shagged half the pub.

Isabela disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing in record time with makeup and her usual bundle of gold necklaces glimmering at her throat.

"All set?" She said.

"You packing?" Hawke said. Everything Isabela was wearing seemed too tight to conceal the tiny twin pistols she'd seen her with before.

"In my boots" Isabela replied. "You?"

"I left it in my jacket." Hawke said, nodding towards the black leathery mass by the door.

Isabela picked it up, pulled the gun out of the inside pocket. "She's a beauty," she said, softly, wrapping her hand around it. "Where'd you get it?"

"It was my dad's." Hawke replied.

Isabela smiled, replaced the gun, and then handed the jacket back.

"Let's go then," Hawke said as she pulled it on and headed for the door.

* * *

On the way out of the bar they were hailed by Varric.

"I see you've been busy." The dwarf said, with a meaningful glance at Isabela.

"Oh." Hawke said, once she'd worked out what he meant. "Yeah, and I'd love to chat about it, but I'm an hour and a half late for meeting Aveline."

"Impressive," Varric said with a chuckle. "May I come? It's fun watching her shout."

"Uh, sure," Hawke said, too much in a hurry to argue. Aveline might not be very happy, but she was already upset so what the hell. The more the merrier. She drew the line at bringing Fenris, Anders, or Carver, however.

Varric collected his things- his sharp jacket, and that strange black case. He slung this over his back as they left the pub.

"What's in the box?" Isabela said immediately. Hawke looked at her. For some reason, the subject of the black box had seemed an un-encroachable one. For Isabela to just bring it up like that was shocking.

"Oh, that's just Bianca." Varric said cryptically.

"That just made it more confusing," Isabela huffed. "I'm Isabela, by the way. Hawke's one night stand."

"I'm Varric," he replied, casting an amused eye over at Hawke. "Hawke's business partner."

"So do you, like, keep your dead wife in there?" Isabela said curiously. "Or someone else's dead wife?"

"Unfortunately, no." Varric said with a grin.

Hawke said, "Maybe it's just an empty box, and he named it because he feels lonely."

Isabela laughed, and Varric shook his head.

"Lonely? How could I be lonely, when the great Hawke herself is always hanging around like a gnat you just can't get rid of?" He returned. "As for what's in the box, I'm sure you'll find out."

"Well, now I have to stick around." Isabela said.

"Last night wasn't enough of an incentive?" Hawke teased.

"Oh, it was," Isabela replied flirtily. "We should definitely do that again some time."

"I'd prefer if this discussion were had out of my earshot," Varric said. "That or in Aveline's earshot. Either one is fine."

* * *

They had to get a bus out to the coast. Isabela had no change on her so Varric payed her fare, and they sat somewhere near the back.

A kid in a blue hoodie pulled over his head sat next to Hawke, typing madly on his expensive-looking smartphone. He seemed oddly familiar, but Hawke couldn't place him.

"Anyway," Isabela was saying. "This Qunari U-boat rips out of nowhere, and flashes us a warning, saying they're searching everyone who comes through. Now, we're really supposed to get this cargo round Seheron all quietlike- it was poison, I think, for those foggy rebels- but there's no way we're getting past a Qunari blockade with volatile cargo on board. But we have to go through, or else they'll suspect and open fire. So we're at the point of dumping the shit, when suddenly Tevinter launches a surprise naval attack, disrupting the blockade. We slip through all the chaos, get our cargo safely to the buyers, and sail back through with a shipment of bananas." She laughs.

Varric lets out a low whistle. "I should write about that next. I don’t even care if it’s true."

"So long as you pay me royalties. It was one of my closest shaves. The Qunari navy is not something to be trifled with."

The kid next to Hawke looked up, curiosity burning in his blue eyes. "Excuse me," He said, politely, strains of a Hightown accent noticeable in his voice. "Did you say Qunari? You've seen the Qunari's naval might up close?"

"Uh, yeah." Isabela said. "I used to captain a ship, up north."

"That's awesome!" Said the kid. He still looked awfully familiar, so much so that it was starting to bother Hawke. "I'd kill to see a Qunari U-boat up close. Or go inside one."

"And if you ever tried, I'm sure they'd kill you." Varric said. "The Qunari aren't exactly friendly."

The boy shrugged impatiently. "Oh, I don't believe all that. It's Chantry propaganda, mostly. They make the Qunari seem like savage brutes, and the Qun seem heretical and obscene. Personally, I think it sounds... compelling."

Hawke exchanged a glance with Varric.

"It's not all fun and games, squirt." Isabela said, uncharacteristically serious. "The Qun can crush the unfortunate just as well as the Chantry does. Believe me, I lived right next door to it my whole life in Rivain."

He only seemed to hear the last part, however, because he said "That's amazing. I'd love to visit some place like that."

Isabela frowned, for once unsure what to say.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Hawke asked.

He turned his attention to her. "I don't think so. My name’s Saemus."

"Hawke," She said. "That's Isabela and Varric. What are you doing at the coast?"

"I'm meeting a friend." He said, blushing a little.

"That sort of 'friend', huh?" Isabela said with a smirk, obviously relieved to move away from the topic of Qunari.

Saemus turned even pinker. "How about all of you?"

"We're also meeting a friend." Hawke replied. She was fairly certain she hadn't met this kid before, but there was a familiarity to him all the same. "Are you in a film? Or an advert?"

"No," Saemus heaved a sigh. "You've probably seen my dad on telly though."

"You're John Travolta's son." Isabela guessed wildly.

"Alas, no."

"Dumar." Hawke realised, suddenly, why he was so familiar. "You're the mayor's son, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Saemus admitted. "Much as I'd rather not be."

"I voted against him in the last election." Hawke informed him.

She'd voted for Orsino Corella in the only Kirkwall election she'd been around for. Unfortunately, the Mage Party never won, mostly because most people didn't trust them. Anything was better than voting for a Templar, though. And so the office had gone to Marlowe Dumar. Not the strongest leader, but he was comfortably neutral enough for Kirkwall's majority.

"I would have too, to be honest with you." Saemus said with a small smile, as the bus pulled up to the final stop and they piled out. "It was nice to meet you all. Have a good day."

Saemus headed towards the beach, which wasn't nearly as crowded as it was in the summer, and they towards the ragged clifftops.

A blob of red hair became visible near a small beach hut. Aveline was standing anxiously on the porch. She looked up at their approach, registering Varric and Isabela with confusion.

"This is a drugs bust, Hawke, not a birthday party." She grumbled, handing Hawke a brown paper bag. Hawke peeked inside. It contained wads of bills.

"Can I keep the cash?" Hawke said.

"No. You'll be 'trading' that for drugs, before I come out and arrest them."

"Oh," Hawke replied. "Can I keep the drugs?"

"Not funny." Aveline said. "Your friends will have to stand around the back with me. You have to pretend to do the drug deal with whoever shows up. I figured, you get up to all sorts of trouble, you probably know how this works. Make sure you see the drugs- and then show them this-" She shoved a badge into Hawke's hand. "I'll step out to make the arrest."

"This is so cool," Isabela stage-whispered. "All those times in high school I got busted for dealing weed, now I get to experience the other side of things."

"Tell me about it," Hawke muttered. She'd trafficked much more substantial things than weed in her time. She suspected that Isabela had too- the only difference was, they'd never been caught as adults.

Aveline shot them dirty glances, then ushered Varric and Isabela around the back of the hut.

Hawke sat on the porch, waiting. Her phone buzzed.

> **Isabela:** i like your friend, hawke.
> 
> **Hawke:** thanks. you can keep her if you want.
> 
> **Isabela:** ooh can i! ;) she's so rugged. and i dig the sexxy cop thing
> 
> **Hawke:** dont let her hear you say that.
> 
> **Isabela:** This is Aveline. I have taken the phone. Please stop texting Haskell. You have a job to do remember.
> 
> **Isabela:** I mean Hawke. Not Haskell.
> 
> **Hawke:** lmao
> 
> **Isabela:** Someone's coming!!!!!!

Hawke grinned, stuck her phone back in her pocket, and looked up. Sure enough, someone was coming up the hill. She grabbed the paper bag and stood up, tensing automatically.

"Is that the money?" Said one of the guys, a bald dwarf with a septum piercing and a scar lacing his right eye.

"No, it's my sack lunch." Hawke said. Something about these three set her on guard. There were two unpleasant-looking dwarves, one very bald, and one very hairy- plus an elf who stared glassily ahead as if Hawke were invisible. A switchblade dangled from her limp hand.

"Don't fuckin' play games with me, human." Snapped the dwarf.

"No games." Hawke said. "Understood. Have you got my shit?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Alright," Hawke said, looking around for any sign of illegal substances. Nobody seemed to be making any effort to pull it out, either. Aveline had been right. This was getting shifty. "Where is it?"

"Right here." Said the bald dwarf, slowly, reaching behind him.

_He's pulling a gun_ , Hawke realised. Not that it was a difficult realisation- he couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Amateur.

"Don't do that," she said crossly, sending a bolt of lightning careening into his chest. He was knocked back, the gun flying out of his hand and into the grass.

The other dwarf shouted in alarm, reaching for a firearm of his own. The elf raised the switchblade, bared her teeth. Despite the simplicity of her weapon, Hawke had a feeling she was going to be the more difficult of the two to subdue.

"Aveline?" She called.

"This is the police, everybody freeze!" Yelled Aveline, tearing out from behind the hut with her gun drawn. Hawke saw Isabela sneak around behind the elf and the hairy dwarf.

"Nobody move, or I'll shoot" She said calmly, pistols pointed at both of their heads. "And I never miss my targets." She winked at Hawke.

Aveline hurried over to the bald dwarf, tucking her gun into her holster. "You are under arrest for possession of a controlled substance with an intent to distribute. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." She pinned him to the ground, unclipping handcuffs from her belt.

Hawke looked around for Varric- he was nowhere to be seen. But before she could call for him, the elf had moved quicker than light out of Isabela's line of fire, dancing around until her blade was pressed to Hawke's neck.

"Let Varkas go and put down your weapons," She said, slowly. "Or I slit her filthy mage throat."

Isabela slowly put down her pistols. Aveline reluctantly released Varkas.

"Good," said the elf. "Now I want you to-"

But they didn't get to hear what she wanted- the rest of her sentence died along with her as a clean headshot passed through her skull, spattering Hawke with blood. The switchblade fell from her grasp onto the ground. Her body followed it with a final thump.

"Say hello to Bianca," Said Varric. They turned to see him perched on the roof of the hut, toting a high-powered rifle.

Isabela whistled, then kicked the hairy dwarf in his probably equally hairy balls. He keeled over, groaning. Hawke tossed the switchblade to her; she caught it, grabbed his head by a fistful of beard, and cut his throat from ear to ear.

"What the hell?" Aveline shouted. She had Varkas on his feet, handcuffed. "We're bringing them in alive. This is supposed to be justice, not murder!"

Hawke wiped at the blood on her face, but probably only succeeded in smearing it around more. "Sorry, Aveline. They all saw me do magic. You collaborating with an apostate will put an end to your career. And they'll find me for sure. You know that."

Aveline blinked at her, like she didn't understand.

Hawke looked at Varric. Varric nodded, aimed his rifle at Varkas, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"That was fun!" Isabela said over a plate of fish and chips. "I haven't had excitement like this in weeks."

 They'd gone down to the beach, after changing into some nondescript but bloodless hoodies Aveline kept in the boot of her car.

Aveline stared into her beer glass as if it were bottomless.

"Cheer up, Aveline." Hawke said bracingly. "They were scum. If you'd been alone, they would have killed you and taken all the money."

"There were no drugs on the bodies." Isabela said. "Not even the tiniest scrap of coke. Not like any run of the mill dealers I've ever come across."

"Right," Hawke agreed. "They probably came here with the intention of killing- or at least extorting- whoever showed up. They didn't expect four of us. Or a mage."

"Or Bianca." Varric said, sprinkling vinegar on his chips.

"She's gorgeous, by the way." Isabela said enviously. "I can see why you keep her all locked away. I wouldn't want anyone else's hands on her either."

"You know what I don't understand?" Aveline said, ignoring this. "Chief Constable Jeven said these were a small time gang operating out of Lowtown, hardly dangerous. No risk at all."

"He was obviously mistaken." Varric said.

"Was he?" Aveline frowned, leaned in. "He made such a fuss about how easy this was going to be, how it wasn't even worth bringing a gun along really. He said he'd had run-ins with them before."

Hawke set the bag of money on the table, opened it so they could see inside. "That's not a shabby amount." She said. "How often do these busts happen?"

"Regularly." Aveline said. "It's proven an effective tactic."

"So, Jeven sends out a cop on a harmless drugs bust, and it turns out to be three well-armed bastards with no drugs on them at all?" Varric said.  "Sounds fishy to me."

"And me." Aveline agreed. "I think it might be a set up." She drank a swig of beer, then looked out of the window ponderously. "Sacrificing his own men... Jeven will answer."

"You could get a promotion for this." Hawke said. "Imagine how much more leeway you could grant me at a higher rank."

"Not happening, Hawke."

"Only joking."

"So do these conspiracies happen often in the KPD?" Isabela said. "You should write a book about that, Varric."

"They do not," Aveline said, bristling. "And don't you dare write anything, Varric. It's lucky they came," she said to Hawke. "But remind me why you brought these two clowns?"

"Oh, I saw them on my way out of the Hanged Man this morning." Hawke said. "They wanted to come along, so I thought why not."

"Don't forget, you also saw me on your way _into_ the Hanged Man last night," purred Isabela, waggling a chip at her. "And everything in between."

Hawke watched as comprehension dawned in Aveline's gaze, brows drawing together in exasperation. "Oh, for the love of Andraste, Hawke. You brought your... your-"

"Gal pal?" Suggested Hawke. "Sapphic lover?"

"One night stand?" Suggested Varric.

"Passionate and deadly sex goddess who generously let you into her bed?" Suggested Isabela, elbowing Hawke playfully.

Aveline rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Just so you know, Hawke, when I call on you to do police work in the future, it will _not_ be a date."

* * *

On the war back, they found themselves blocked by a car in the middle of the road.

"Oh, Maker's sake." Aveline said in exasperation, slamming on the brakes.

"This is sort of how I met you," Hawke pointed out. "Except I was speeding, and there was a collision. And then a fight."

"Don't rule out number three," said Aveline grimly, opening the car door. Hawke followed her out.

The owner of the car was a dwarf, standing by the front of the car- he'd been obscured by it previously. The bonnet was flung open, and he looked very frustrated.

"What's going on here?"Aveline said, flashing her badge. "This is a public road you're obstructing."

"I can see that," Said the dwarf irritably. "My sodding car broke down, didn't it?"

Aveline sighed. "We'll give you a jumpstart." She said. "I'll go get my car and the jumper cables, hang on."

She went back to her car, leaving Hawke and the dwarf eyeing each other.

"You don't look like police," he said critically.

"I'm not." Hawke replied. "I'm freelance."

"I see. How'd you like to help me out with a little favour? There's good money in it."

"What sort of favour?"

"I'm trying to court the Qunari." Said the dwarf, leaning forward conspiratorially.

"Sorry, mate, I don't think they're allowed to marry outside the faith." Hawke joked.

"What? Oh, ha-ha. Very good." The dwarf said. "But no. The relationship I want to pursue is one of business." He took a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Hawke; _Javaris Tintop, businessman and entrepeneur._

"Call me if you'd like to talk business." He said, as Aveline's car pulled up beside them.

Hawke stuck the business card in her pocket and watched as Aveline attached the jumper cables and restarted Javaris's car.

"What were you and he talking about?" Aveline said as they followed the dusty trail his car had left behind.

"He was telling me about his business," Hawke said vaguely.

"Best not to ask, is it?" Aveline said with a sigh.

* * *

Aveline pulled into the precinct, adjusting her badge nervously and turning to look at Hawke. "Wait here," She said. "I'll go speak to Jeven."

"You're going to confront him?" Hawke said.

"Oh, no," Aveline said. "We need more substantial proof than a one-time thing. I need to find out when this is going to happen again... and who with."

"Good luck, then." Hawke said, and Aveline nodded, shut the door and hurried into the building.

"Hey, Hawke." Isabela said.

"What?"

"When Manhands wasn't looking, I, uh," She raised a hand. "-pinched her handcuffs." Sure enough, they dangled off her thumb.

"I'm sure they'll come in handy." Hawke said, suppressing a grin at Varric's eye roll.

"Where do you think she keeps the key?" Isabela said. "It's no good without a key."

Hawke opened the glovebox. Inside was a bag of skittles, which she passed back to Isabela, a hefty manual on How To Police, and a photo of Wesley. Hawke looked at it a little sadly, remembering the day she and Aveline had met. It had been equally as bloody as today.

"Who's that?" Isabela said.

"Aveline's husband." Hawke said. "He was a templar."

"Was?" Varric repeated.

"He was shot." Hawke said. She replaced the photo carefully.

"Aha!" Isabela said suddenly, making them jump. She looked at them sheepishly. "Sorry, I just got them open with a hairpin. Here-" Hawke let her handcuff her wrist to the car seat, thinking about Wesley and Aveline. Her feelings towards the policewoman were complicated, but no more than they were to anyone else in her family. Aveline just was that. Family. They'd left Ferelden together, and, annoying as it might be at times, Aveline was always watching her back.

Aveline climbed back into the car, clutching a manila folder. "Alright, I've got all the dates and times for undercover work, as well as anything else where officers are likely to be carrying large sums of money." She clicked her seat belt into place, drummed the steering wheel. "The next one's on Tuesday - an officer named Donnick Hendyr. A good man. We should be there."

"Us too?" Varric said, surprised.

"That's Hawke's call." Aveline said. "For now, where should I take you?"

"The Hanged Man." Hawke said, yanking on her handcuffs in order to push the hair out of her eyes.

"Why are you handcuffed, Hawke?" Aveline said. She checked her belt, then swivelled to glare at Isabela. "You took those from me." She said accusatorily.

"Sooo-ree," Said Isabela, not sounding sorry at all.

Aveline heaved a sigh and undid the locks on the handcuffs with a tiny key from her belt.  Hawke pulled her hand free, rubbing her wrist.

"Right, I'm taking you home." Aveline said, starting up the motor. "The sooner she's out of my car, the better.

"Aw, what's the matter, big girl? Don't you like me?"

Aveline and Isabela sniped at each other the whole drive back to Lowtown, meaning that both Hawke and Varric were very relieved when Aveline dropped them off in the car park behind the Hanged Man.

"Hey, call me if you want to get together sometime," Isabela said. "You know, for sex, or for killing people. Both were a lot of fun."

"Will do," Hawke said as Isabela drifted back towards the pub.

"Well, she's certainly something." Varric said with a smile.

"No kidding." Hawke glanced at her phone. She had a couple of unopened text messages.

"I'll see you around, Hawke. Let me know if anything comes up." Varric said, waving a hand as he turned to go.

Hawke said goodbye to him, then checked her messages.

> **Leandra:** when will u be home sweetie  <3 <3 <3 <3 :)
> 
> **Anders:** FWD: Mage Underground meet. Look for the lit lantern, 8 pm weds.. free pizza.
> 
> **Athenril:** hawke, got a little sthg you can do for us. that is if your not to high and mighty to be seen with the likes of us. call me. x athenril

Hawke dialed Athenril's number, shaking a cigarette free from the pack in her jacket. Calling Athenril always stressed her out enough to smoke. She stuck it in her mouth and lit it with a small flame that rose from her fingertip.

"Well, I just lost a bet." Came Athenril's sharp voice over the speaker. "Didn't think you'd stoop to our kind again. Particularly not after you stormed out on me last week." She made a tch sound. Hawke could almost see her lips, smiling triumphantly as if she'd won something over Hawke.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Ath. What've you got for me?"

"One of our lads, Pryce, was supposed to be making a trade with the Carta. Only we never heard back about him nor the money. I need someone to find out what's happened to them. And bring them back." Athenril said. "They were supposed to be meeting at the docks."

Hawke exhaled a plume of smoke. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Maybe we can... meet up afterwards." Athenril said casually.

"Not a chance." Hawke said with a laugh.

"I don't know," Athenril said. "It might be nice, just one last time. For old times' sake."

"Athenril, if I wanted to go backwards in my life, I would."

"Well, the offer's always there. Since you left I haven't really met anyone who could... work your kind of magic, if you know what I mean."

Hawke rolled her eyes, then hung up. If she was going to make it to the docks before nightfall, she had to get moving.  She sent a quick text message to her mother, explaining where she was going, then went to catch a bus.

She arrived in time to stop Carta thugs from killing the boy. Pryce was a pimply little thing, barely on the cusp of thirteen.

"You're too young to be doing this shit," Hawke said, checking the cash was all there.

"Haven't got a choice, have I?" He said, mutinously. "Athenril's the only one who'll pay us."

"Us?"

"Me and me sisters." He said.

"No parents?"

"Nah."

Hawke looked at the kid, looked at the cash. "Fuck Athenril," She said, holding the bag out to him. "Take this, get your sisters out of Kirkwall. Find a place where you can start fresh."

He took it, frowned. "And you won't tell Athenril?"

"Nah," She said. "Get out of here, kid."

He didn't think twice, or thank her. Just ran.

* * *

Athenril was waiting for her by Gamlen's place.

"This could qualify as stalking, Athenril." Hawke said amusedly.

"Well? Did you get the boy? Or, more importantly, the cash?"

"Classy. And no," Hawke lied. "By the time I got there, the Carta had taken everything. Too bad, I suppose."

She started for the door, but Athenril shoved her against the wall.

"You really fucked me over, Hawke." She said.

"Uh, when?" Hawke said nervously. She didn't know if Athenril had had someone watching her when she'd let Pryce go- the elf wasn't the forgiving type.

"Last week." Athenril looked at her hungrily. Hawke relaxed, then realised how very close to her the elf was. Her black button-down was thrown open at the neck, and from this vantage point Hawke could see all the way down her top.

Well, one more time couldn't hurt, right?

 "And if you want me to stop, just tell me."

Hawke didn't tell her.

Athenril smiled, then grabbed Hawke roughly and kissed her.

"Not against this wall, my family lives right up there." And Gamlen had already made more than enough ghastly comments once he'd discovered her orientation. He really didn't need to see this stuff in real life as well as on his porn cassettes.

Athenril shrugged, pulled her around the building.

"This really is the last time," Hawke said.

"If you say so," Athenril replied, kissing her again.

* * *

Readjusting her hoodie, Hawke made her way indoors. What she really needed was a good night's sleep, and to change out of these clothes that were still crusty with blood. Luckily, it wasn't visible on the black she always wore, so Athenril hadn't asked any questions.

"Marian!" Leandra exclaimed as she entered. "There you are."

"Hi, mum." Hawke said.

"Where have you been?" Leandra patted her back fretfully. "You're all covered in dirt. Were you lying on the ground?"

"No, I was... leaning against a wall. I was at the coast with Aveline."

"Oh, good." Leandra tended to feel reassured whenever Marian said she was with Aveline. Never mind that her magic meant she was the more powerful of the two.

"Carver said you went to the Hanged Man," Said her uncle snidely. He was sitting on the sofa, a can of cheap, nasty beer in his hand. "What were you doing there all night?"

"Business... stuff." Hawke lied lamely. Then, sensing she was about to get ratted out, decided to deal a counterstrike. "But since you're so chatty, Uncle, why don't we discuss where I saw you the other day?"

He grumbled something inaudible, sunk further back into the sofa. Ha. That would teach the sleazebag to hang out at strip clubs. Actually, it probably wouldn't.

Leandra observed the exchange, confused. "That nice Anders man called a couple hours ago." She said. "He reminds me of your father. You know, you and he might-"

"Mum." Hawke interrupted her. "I am a les-beee-aaan." She stretched out the word. It was useless, honestly. They'd had this exact conversation so many times before.

Gamlen muted the telly to better listen in.

Leandra pursed her lips. "People can change, darling. And it might be just a phase. You never know."

"Mum, when I was five I'd already kissed half the girls in my class at school." Marian said. Granted, most of them had been on the cheek, but it was still one of her notable achievements.

Leandra sighed, and that was more irritating than if she'd said something.

"Alright, you want to know what I was doing all night?" Her face said she really didn't want to know, but Hawke really didn't care.

"I do." Sniggered Gamlen.

"Shut up!" Marian snapped at him. "I was with a girl, mum. Because that's what lesbians do. We spend the night with girls."

"I know that," Leandra said. Maker, this really was her best efforts at understanding. "But sooner or later you're going to need to settle down."

Hawke shook her head, unwilling to entertain this discussion. "I'm going to shower." She said, stomping towards the bathroom.

She peeled off her bloody clothes, stepped into the tub and turned the nozzle on. The water that hit her filthy shoulders was freezing cold. No hot water.

"Dammit." She grabbed the pipe, summoned a flare of heat into her palm. The water slowly began to heat up. And people said magic was a curse.

She scrubbed all the blood off, stared as it ran down her stomach and legs onto the floor of the tub, crimson against bright white.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in this chapter by Charli XCX.


	5. The First Sacrifice

_I keep on fear, keep on loathing  
Nothing brings it on I keep on falling_

* * *

  
"So," Marian said as she, Varric, and Javaris descended the heavily graffiti'd stone steps that led to the docks. "What exactly is this negotiation for?"

She'd had to drive some Tal-Vashoth out of the city for Javaris, apparently to impress the Arishok. It hadn't been difficult; she and Varric had managed before lunchtime. Isabela had initially wanted to come too, but had changed her mind quickly enough when she had heard it had to do with Qunari.

"I'm trying to get my hands on the formula for Qunari Blackpowders. Gaatlok. You know, those chemical bombs of theirs." Javaris replied. They stopped outside the barbed wire fencing that ran along the edge of the edge of the Qunari compound. It had been granted to them by the City of Kirkwall after their destroyer had been shipwrecked on the Wounded Coast. They were supposed to be waiting for another ship to take them out if Kirkwall, but it had been months.

"Are you insane?" Varric said, voice strangled. "That shit's dangerous! Ayesleigh is still feeling the effects of the last ones they dropped!"

There were still to this day victims of the Ayesleigh bombing- the worst in the history of modern warfare. Anyone it didn't kill, it caused horrid disfigurations and diseases. It had given the entirety of Thedas ample reason to fear the Qunari's military might.

"It's not like I'd be dropping them myself. Only making a profit. Imagine how much the Orlesian government would pay to get their hands on these," Javaris said, a dreamy look in his eye. "Or Tevinter, for that matter."

"You really are a scumbag, aren't you?" Hawke remarked.

"Hey, nobody's perfect."

Hawke and Varric exchanged a glance. She really didn't want this weapon ending up in the greedy little capitalist hands of the morally-challenged Tintop. She found it hard to believe the Qunari had even agreed to such a thing, but according to the dwarf they had.

They arrived at the rusty metal gate of the compound. A tall, hulking Qunari, dressed in full commando getup and packing an impressive AK-47, stopped them before they could enter.

"Stop right there," He said. They stopped right there. "This is a temporary military compound of Qunari refugees in Kirkwall."

"Yeah," Said Hawke. "Take me to your leader."

He didn't react.

"Do they even have televisions, d'you think?" She said to Varric, who laughed.

"Please surrender all your weapons and submit to processing, where you will pass through a metal detector and provide a passport ID."

Hawke and Varric, who had fortunately remembered to bring their passports, stepped up to the security checkpoint. Hawke placed her pistol on the tray provided, Varric reluctantly parted with Bianca. Their other metal objects went into a separate tray.

They passed through the detector barefoot and beltless, and then they were inside.

"Well," Varric said. "This is something."

"No shit," Hawke said.

It was set up with more regiment and order than any other place in the entirety of Kirkwall- barracks lined the sides, Qunari officers patrolled the perimeter, others were practising drills. It was depressingly military.

They had to wait a few minutes before the Arishok would see them; but when he arrived, Hawke had to physically restrain her mouth from dropping open.

He was the largest being Hawke could have thought possible- a veritable wall of grey stone skin and green military uniform. His gigantic horns curled into wicked twists, his face was painted bright white and scarlet. He was, in a sentence, absolutely terrifying.

"Um," Hawke said. "Hi."

He glared down at her, then his gaze roved over her companions and settled on Javaris.

"You again." He growled.

"Yes, me, hello." Javaris said. "I'm here to discuss our arrangement."

"Our arrangement." Echoed the Arishok doubtfully.

"Yes, you know. The one where I said I'd get rid of a bunch of Tal-vashoth, and you said you'd give me the schematics for your Gaatlok. Well, I did it. Killed the guys. Like I said. So we’re ready to open negotiations for those schematics." The dwarf rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

The Arishok leaned forwards, frowning. "No." He said, simply.

Javaris huffed, then turned to Hawke. "He’s not getting it, say something!" He hissed.

“I don’t care about your deal.” Hawke said. “I was hired to hunt outcasts and I want my payment.”

The Arishok’s gaze slid to her for the first time. Hawke found Qunari expressions totally unreadable, but then again the Arishok only seemed to have one emotion- annoyance. She met his gaze squarely- he seemed to be measuring her, taking her apart piece by piece and weighing her. It was unsettling.

“This great undertaking was, uh, undertaken at my behest, Oh Arishok.” Javaris had purpled with rage, which was quite funny.

“You asked for the Gaatlok and were refused,” Said the Arishok contemptuously, upper lip pulling away from his teeth in a snarl. “So you invented a task, and then paid to have it done. You failed your own goal. You have proved your wealth, not worth, and the Qunari owe you nothing.”

 “Hang on,” Marian interjected. She really didn’t want to walk away from this without any cash to show for it. “He had big plans for your bombs. I was supposed to get a piece of that.”

“Dwarf, did your imaginary bargain make promises on my behalf?” Said the Arishok sharply.

Javaris squirmed under his anger. “I expected your wisdom to be more profitable-“

The Arishok scoffed, or maybe it was more of a growl. The surrounding Qunari soldiers bristled, readying their weapons. Javaris’s voice petered out.

“Then you will _pay_ on my behalf.” The Arishok snapped, leaning back.

Javaris huffed. “Sod it all, take your damn cash, take whatever.” He counted out eighty quid in paper bills, handing the money to Hawke.

“Cheers.” Hawke said, stuffing it in her wallet. “You should probably get out of here.”

Javaris left, perhaps the wisest decision he’d ever make. Hawke distinctly heard him grumbling obscenities as he did. Something about sucking on powder.

“You will leave as well, human. There is no more money for you here.”

Hawke frowned, and for half a second caught the Arishok’s eye again. Then she turned to leave, Varric in tow.

* * *

"So, how'd it go with the Qunari?" Isabela said as they trekked across the Wounded Coast again. Isabela was only wearing a bikini top and a denim miniskirt, a fact that was rather distracting.

"As you'd expect," Hawke said. "Javaris wanted Gaatlok, the idiot. And obviously the Qunari told him to get fucked."

"He wanted- what?" Isabela said. She stopped in her path.

"Gaatlok." Hawke said carefully, remembering Isabela was from Rivain.

"Is he crazy? I-" Isabela chewed at her nails, a nervous habit Hawke had noticed. "That shit's not... you can't just mess around with-"

"I know. He didn't get it, it's alright." Hawke said.

Isabela shook her head as if to clear a fly. "Yeah, 'course."

Fear of the Qunari was to be expected growing up as Isabela had, but Hawke couldn't help but feel there was something she wasn't saying. Some personal history with them she wasn't talking about. Not that she was obligated to, of course. It was simply that Hawke could tell it weighed on her mind.

"Anyway, haven't we got some blood mages to chase away?"

"Yeah, we should be near the -" She stopped when she saw someone by a remote petrol station. Not a mage- a Templar.

"What the fuck is a Templar doing here?" Hissed Hawke.

"Let's find out," replied Isabela, striding forward. "Oi!" She called. "What are you doing out here?”

He swiveled abruptly, shocked to see them. "Stay back!" He called. "Holed up in this building are dangerous apostates.”

"Yeah, yeah." Isabela said, as they drew close to the man.

"Danger is our business." Hawke agreed.

He frowned at them, or more specifically frowned at anywhere other than Isabela's exposed chest.

"Well, maybe you could help," he said. "I need to convince these apostates to come peacefully to the Circle with me. I am a Templar, and my entering might scare them. But you might have better luck convincing them. You are no Templar, after all."

"You can say that again," Hawke said.

"Another Templar is on his way, and he intends to kill any and all suspected maleficar he finds. I would rather avoid such bloodshed." The Templar said. Hawke looked at him in surprise. She hadn't expected that. "My name is Thrask. And you two are?"

"Hawke and Isabela." Hawke said.

"The Dynamic Duo," added Isabela.

"Er, right," Thrask said. "I'll wait down the road and try to stall Ser Karras. Please get them to come quietly."

He started off, leaving them in front of the petrol station.

"We still letting them go, or what?" Isabela asked.

"We'll tell them about Thrask, I suppose. If any of them want to go with him, I guess it's their choice." Hawke said, pulling open the door. "But the rest are getting away. More money that route."

Isabela laughed, high-fived her as they entered the darkened shop.

"Stay back!" came a voice out of the gloom. A youth a little younger than Carver was shakily pointing a gun at them. He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Put the gun down, sweet thing," Isabela said gently. "We're not here to fight."

"You're not?" The boy lowered the gun. "Thank the Maker. Decimus has gone... well, he's not right. I hate waiting to be killed, I want to go back to the circle."

"Down the road is a templar who wants to help." Hawke said, pointing. "He'll take you safely to Kirkwall."

"Really?" He said. "Thanks. I'm Alain. The others are in the back room. They've been- I don't know, it’s horrible. I tried to tell Decimus that blood magic is wrong, but he won't listen."

"Well, we'll give convincing him a shot." Hawke said. "Give me the gun, alright?"

He handed it to her, smiled, and took off towards Thrask.

Then an unnatural groaning sound started from somewhere nearby, growing louder and closer.

"The fuck is that?" Said Isabela nervously.

A corpse- once a dark-haired woman in an apron- leered out of an aisle at them- swirling with red, scarlet flame in its eye sockets- obviously reanimated with magic.

Hawke shot it in the face, blowing its brains out. "That must have been the owner of this place. I guess this lot killed her when they set up shop. And then they used magic to raise her from the dead. How nice."

Isabela tutted. "These mages can't be out of Kirkwall fast enough if you ask me."

"Agreed." Hawke said, tossing Alain's gun aside and pulling out her own.

They reached the back room door. They stood on either side of the frame, and Hawke reached out to knock.

"We're not Templars!" She yelled.

"That's exactly what a Templar would say!"

"Seriously?" Hawke said, rolling her eyes at Isabela. "Listen to me. I'm an apostate just like you lot. I'm here to get you out of Kirkwall and away from the Templars here!"

The door opened a fraction- Hawke could see the glint of an eye and a bushy beard below that. Presumably, this was Decimus. "What's in it for you?"

"Do they teach you to look gift horses in the mouth at the Circle?" Isabela said impatiently. "We're here to rescue you, you little imp, you should be grateful."

"Oh, should we?" The bearded man scoffed.

"Look," Hawke said. "We're on your side. There's a Templar down the road. Soon enough all his little Templar chums will be joining us. If you haven't scarpered by then you'll be off to the circle before you know it."

He opened the door, slowly, revealing a group of mages. Some looked frightened, others fierce. Hawke took note of a woman standing by Decimus's elbow. Her eyes were sharp, travelling from Isabela to Hawke calculatingly.

Suddenly, Decimus lunged for Hawke, but Isabela was too quick for him- she kicked him in the balls, spun him around and smashed her fist into his face.

He staggered back, feeling the blood on his face. Before he did it, Hawke knew what he was going to do- he pulled at currents surrounding Isabela, who collapsed. He was draining the life out of her, with gathering speed.

"Release the spell!" Hawke yelled, pressing her gun to the back of his head. "Or I'll shoot!"

Decimus didn't release it- he shouted "Run, Grace!" at the other mages.

Hawke never hesitated a second before shooting him cleanly through the skull.

"Decimus!" Screamed Grace, balling up her fists to summon magic.

Before she could do anything, Hawke pinned them all to the ground with Force magic.

"I'm better at this than you," She said, pointing her gun at Grace. "Most of these kids you and Decimus dragged along on all your reindeer games still haven't passed their Harrowing, have they? I'm giving you all one chance to get the hell out of Kirkwall and never come back." To Grace, she said: "You better fucking take it if you don't want to end up like your boyfriend here. I'll make sure the Templars don't come after you."

"So that's it," Grace spat, venom in her eyes as she struggled to her feet. "You murder my love, my Decimus, and then ask us to fuck off?"

"I'm not asking." Hawke said, trying to see if Isabela was okay. She wasn't moving. "But he was. If he hadn't attacked us and hurt my friend, he'd probably still be alive."

Grace looked furious. "Fuck you," she hissed.

Hawke shrugged, said: "Get out of here."

Grace and the others did, hurrying out of the door.

Hawke dropped the gun and crouched down beside Isabela. She was alive- Hawke breathed a sigh of relief, turned her over onto her back, touched her face. Isabela stirred, opening her eyes blearily.

"I've got a massive bloody wedgie right now." She said, lifting her hips to push a hand under her skirt and dislodge it.

"Thought you were a goner." Hawke said.

"Not even close," Isabela replied with a shaky grin. "Takes more than a little blood magic nonsense to do me in. Help me up, would you?"

Hawke stood, pulled Isabela to her feet. "Guess we'd better tell Thrask all that's left is this guy." She poked Decimus with her foot.

Isabela frowned at him. "Arsehole. If he hadn't been so stupid-"

"Yeah, I know." Hawke shrugged. "Nothing we can do about it now."

Isabela brushed dust off her stomach and back. "Now I've got dirt all over me from that grotty floor, look." she complained.

"And your bikini's come off halfway too," Hawke said, adjusting it. Then adjusting it again.

"You will just use _any_ excuse, won't you?"

"Pretty much."

* * *

The following day Anders, surprisingly enough, turned up at the Hanged Man.

"Didn't think this was your scene," Hawke said, looking up from her game of Wicked Grace.

"Believe it or not, it used to be," Anders said with a laugh. "Other things just got in the way, I suppose."

"You mean-" She made a wiggly motion around her head to signify Justice.

"Yeah," Anders said. He pulled up a chair to the table where Hawke, Varric, and Isabela all sat playing cards. "Nice to see you again, Varric. And I'm Anders." He said politely to Isabela.

She leant forward intently. "Isabela. You never told me he was cute, Hawke. I feel so betrayed."

"Not the best judge of these things, Iz." Hawke said. "I know you're looking at my cards, though."

Isabela drew back. "Was not."

"Was too. As much as I enjoy your boobs in my face, law must be upheld." Hawke said with a grin.

"Because you're the picture of lawfulness, Hawke." Varric pointed out. "You've got a card stuck up your sleeve, by the way. I'm sure it ended up there by accident. Hah."

Anders observed this exchange quietly, then said: "Hawke, I came to thank you for getting those guys away from Kirkwall. I heard there was a casualty, though."

"Yeah," Hawke said. "But as we all know, mages aren't really people. So there won’t be any investigation into his murder."

"It was unavoidable," Isabela added. "And he wasn't exactly a Nobel Peace Prize winner. So it works out, right?"

Anders sighed. "Justice is one screwed up bastard," he said wryly. "Nevertheless, the money is being wired to a private offshore account. Here's the details." He passed her a folded up document.

Hawke gave him a grin as she pocketed it, then set a card facedown on the table and drew another one from the deck. It was the Serpent of Deceit and Avarice, not exactly a card she needed.

"So, Anders," Isabela said, taking a card. She had an impeccable poker face, mostly because she always looked like she had a better hand than you. "Tell me about this little revolution of yours."

"Yes, I'm really about to do _that_ in public, to a woman I barely know, in the same room as a police officer." Anders said sarcastically.

"There's a police-" Hawke looked up, and saw Aveline hovering uncertainly by the door. The atmosphere of the pub had changed ever so slightly with her presence. "Oh, that's Aveline. Hey, Aveline!" She called.

Anders looked at her as if she'd gone mad.

"Don't worry, she's totally a dirty copper." Isabela said soothingly. "In the sense of willfully sheltering an apostate. Unfortunately, not in the other sense." She heaved a dramatic sigh.

Aveline hurried over to them. "Hawke," she said. "It's urgent. Let's go."

"What? But I'm busy!"

Aveline looked around at all the debauchery. "I'm sure this can wait. Donnic's in danger."

"Who?"

"A fellow officer. You know, that thing we were investigating the other day? It's been rescheduled. I just found out. Donnic will be walking into a trap, today." Aveline bobbed anxiously around the table. "You can bring your friends if you want, I don't have time to argue. Come on!"

Hawke shrugged, motioned to her friends. Varric and Isabela stood up immediately. Anders remained sitting.

"I-" he said.

"Oh, come on," wheedled Isabela. "Aveline's lots of fun. In a boring way. And you may be able to help."

"What do you mean?" Aveline said, turning her gaze on him. "Who is this man, Hawke?"

"I'm, uh, a doctor. Well, a medical student, really-"

"Great, let's go."

Anders didn't seem to have much choice after that, so he reluctantly stood up.

Aveline hurried them into her car, turning on her sirens as she sped down the road.

"Being in here is fucking weird." Anders said, leaning so far down in his seat that his seatbelt clipped his forehead.

"Maker, I don't understand it," Aveline fretted. "Donnic is a good man, a good officer. Why would anyone want to hurt a policeman?"

"Maybe because ACAB?" Hawke said. Anders snorted.

"ACAB?" Aveline repeated, confused.

"Don't worry about it."

"Hey, Anders," Isabela said, twisting in the front seat she'd commandeered, to Aveline's consternation. "You should come 'round the Hanged Man more often. Tell us about all your escapades."

"Don't you mean 'escapes'?" Anders said.

"Those too."

"Escapes from where?" Aveline asked.

"Anders is an escape artist." Hawke lied quickly. "Like a magician. Obviously, without the real magic. We'll leave that to the _Apostate_ in the car, right?" She laughed nervously.

"You're an escape artist _and_ a medical student?" Aveline asked suspiciously.

"How else can I pay for college?" Anders said.

"Yeah, you should see him with handcuffs." Isabela put in suggestively.

"I'll pass," Aveline said, coming to a halt in front of a Lowtown alley where another police car was parked. "Alright, get behind me."

She got out of the car, ran towards Donnic's vehicle. "His radio is totally disconnected." Aveline said. "Jeven must have done this."

There were sounds of a struggle coming from the alley. Hawke drew her own gun and began to creep along it. It opened up into a filthy little courtyard, in which two burly humans had a policeman in a headlock.

"Having fun?" Hawke said, loudly.  "Back away and drop your weapons. We're the sort-of police."

They froze, looked up at them and the three guns altogether between Hawke and Isabela. They did as she asked, slowly.

She looked at Donnic- blood was oozing from a gunshot wound to his chest.

"Uh, Aveline?" Hawke called. "We've got an officer... shot. Wounded. Man down.  Whatever."

Aveline rushed into the alley, Varric and Anders lurking in the shadows behind her.

She spoke into her radio. "We've got an officer down at 3000 West 56th, gunshot wound. Looks serious. Request immediate medical assistance. Two suspects. Moving to arrest."

"Maker, he's gonna die, Blondie." Varric said quietly to Anders.

"Doctor, if you can do _anything."_ Aveline said pleadingly. She hurried forward to arrest the men and take them to her car, leaving Anders to his dilemma.

"Get him stablized." Hawke said. "Aveline's alright, I swear."

He looked at her, resolution written on his face, and hurried forward to where Donnic was lying. As soon as he crouched beside him the Healer of Darktown was in his element again.

"Alright, now if you can hear me, I'm gonna need you to remain calm," He said, placing skilled, professional hands on the wound. "I'm going to place pressure here, then you'll feel a cold, tingling sensation." It really didn't look like Donnic could hear him, but this didn't seem to matter to Anders.

Blue light began radiating from his hands, a brilliant orb pulsing under his palms into Donnic's flesh. "There's a lung puncture. No other vital organs." I should be able to fix most of the immediate damage. Leave some for the paramedics."

"That's a relie-" Aveline had returned, and she stopped as soon as she saw what was happening. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Saving his life," Hawke said, grabbing Aveline's arm. "It's fine."

"No, it's _not_ fine, Hawke, what the hell? All that rubbish about- med school, and... Hawke, what are you doing hanging around apostates?"

"You sound like my brother. I’m an apostate too, remember? I met him at an Apostates Anonymous meeting?" Hawke hissed. "And the only reason he agreed to do this is because I told him he could trust you."

"He has no other reason for helping an innocent man?"

"You know that's not what I meant." Hawke didn't mention that to someone like Anders, to those who lived in the undercity, cops were hardly 'innocent'. "Please, Aveline. He's my friend. And he's saving your guys' life. He saves people's lives every day, this is what he does. I need you to trust me."

Aveline relented. "Fine. He has nothing to worry about from me."

Anders finished, wiped his blood-stained hands on his jeans. He looked exhausted. "He's good for now. Paramedics are on their way?"

Aveline nodded.

"Then I'd better scarper." Anders said. "See you around, Hawke."

"Thanks." Aveline said, a little awkwardly.

Anders nodded, and left.

Donnic coughed, and Aveline rushed to his side.

"Ave- Aveline? You're a beautiful sight."

Aveline's ears went a little red.

"I mean. I thought I was dead for sure, how did-"

He was interrupted as officers and medics arrived on the scene. They loaded Donnic onto a stretcher and wheeled him into an ambulance. Aveline went with him while another cop, Brennan, took statements from Varric, Isabela, and Hawke.

She had to speak carefully in case she accidentally contradicted one of the others. But Brennan seemed to accept her testimony, even giving her a friendly squeeze on the arm. "You've done Kirkwall a service, ma'am." She said, formally.

"I live to service," Hawke replied, throwing a mock salute. Brennan turned a little pink, obviously unsure how to respond, then hurried away.

"She fancies you," noted Isabela.

"Jealous?" Hawke joked.

"Half of Kirkwall fancies you. I can't waste my time being jealous of all of them. I'm the one who's banged you. Speaking of which- wanna go back to mine?" Isabela said, shoving two sticks of gum into her mouth as they left the alley. "It wasn't much of a fight but I don't need a lot to get me going these days."

"Tempting, but no thanks. I have some stuff to do."

"Oh, boo." Isabela huffed. "There'll be some shmuck at the pub who's DTF, I'm sure. Who needs Hawke?"

"Who indeed." Hawke agreed. "I'll text you or something."

Isabela shrugged, blowing an enormous bubble of gum and popping it with a loud smack- she then stuck her hands in her pockets and walked away.

Varric gave Hawke a little wave and followed after her. Hawke turned and headed for Gamlen's flat.

* * *

When she arrived, Gamlen and Leandra seemed to be facing off about something; Leandra had her hands on her hips and Gamlen's face was scrunched up in anger.

"It’s hard to believe they left me nothing," Leandra was saying. "I was their daughter!"

"Do you really think Mum and Dad sat around for ten years waiting for precious Leandra to slink back?"

"If I could just look at the will-"

"Well you can't. I left it in the house when I sold the damn thing!"

Not wanting to get involved, Marian slid past to join Carver in the kitchen, where he was peeling carrots.

"How long has this been going on?" She said, grabbing a knife and a carrot.

"Ages," Carver said with a roll of his eyes. "Mum wants her estate back, Gamlen wants this miserable hovel back. You know. The usual."

Strips of carrot peel fell into the sink, crisscrossing on top of each other.

"Shouldn't we do something? Find the will, put a stop to this?" Marian said.

"Why should we? I don't give a rat's arse about the bleeding estate. I never lived there. That's mum's dream, not mine." Carver replied with a shrug.

"You're telling me you don't want to move up in the world? Or at least move up from this dive?"

Carver shrugged.

Marian looked down at her knife.

"Mum even gave me the stupid key to a back door.” Carver snorted. “Apparently the great Amell estate is being used as a crack den these days."

"Then I’m sure nobody will mind if we do a little cleaning." Marian set the last carrot down, turning so she could lean against the kitchen counter. "The will's probably in the basement there somewhere. We should break in and nick it."

"Do we have to?" Carver complained, then looked at her resolute expression. "Ugh. Fine."

There was a knock on the door, and Gamlen ceased his argument with Leandra to go answer it.

"Marian?" He called. "That copper's here to see you!"

"Aveline?" Hawke exchanged a surprised glance with Carver. Aveline wasn't one for house calls. She normally lurked outside instead.

Hawke dried her hands and entered the living room. Aveline stood there, sheepishly, in her civvies- namely a red leather jacket, black tank top, and jeans.

"Hawke," She said, looking down.

"Aveline," Hawke replied. "What's up?"

"Came to pass along some work," Aveline said, a little awkwardly. She held out a manila folder, which Hawke took and rifled through. A missing persons report, by the looks of things.

“It’s probably nothing, but I need someone to look into it anyway,” Aveline continued. "I know it's a bit unorthodox to ask you to take care of this on your own, but we're stretched thin and I really can't spare any of my men."

"Sure, Aveline, I-" Hawke stopped, looking up at Aveline sharply. "Since when are they 'your men'?"

"Since I, er, got promoted." Aveline said as if it were a curse rather than a bigger paycheck.

"Nice one."

"Thanks."

Aveline sat on the sofa, Gamlen and Leandra scuttling away to corners where they could pretend they weren't still well within earshot. Something was clearly bothering Aveline.

"So, what went down, exactly?" Hawke said after she'd gotten them beers.

"I've made chief." Aveline said in a hurry. "They've stripped Jeven of his rank and he's going into questioning. They gave me his job."

"Aveline! That's great!" Hawke said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Good on you."

"Thanks. There’s going to be, you know, training before I can take the position officially. Procedure. You know."

"You don't seem thrilled. What am I missing?"

"It's just-" Aveline sighed, looked down at her knees. "I keep thinking about Wesley. What on earth would he think of all this?"

"I'm sure he'd be proud of you, Aveline."

"Would he?" Aveline looked up at her desperately. "I'm in charge now. It's a position of great honor... of duty. And here I am, having a drink with an apostate. Only _one_ of my apostate associates."

Hawke fiddled with the rim of her beer bottle.

"I looked your guy up at the office. Anders? He's the healer of Darktown, isn't he? We've been trying to find him for months. Why? I don't even know. All he's ever done is help people, provide the healthcare that Kirkwall's government denies to so many people. But he uses magic, so he's a criminal." Aveline said. "Wesley always believed so strongly in mages being locked away for their own good and for everyone else's.  And so did I. But look at you, and Anders- Officer Donnic and I would both be dead if it weren't for you."

Hawke frowned. "So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I'm not sure anymore. And it feels like dishonoring his memory."

"That's rubbish. You're not- look," Hawke said, grabbing Aveline's arm. "You remember when we first came here, and that weirdo witch lady helped us get to Gwaren?"

Aveline nodded.

"Well, we never did return her amulet to those elves. I still have it here somewhere." Hawke said. "Why don't we go up Sundermount for a day, just you and me and Carver maybe, kind of as a goodbye? That first journey might not be over until we do."

"Good idea," Aveline replied a little thickly. "Good idea, Hawke. I'd love that."

"Sorted, then." Hawke said. "I'll text you soon. You should probably get home now, huh? Did you drive here?"

"Took the bus. I'll be fine getting back. Thanks, Hawke." Aveline stood up, eyes a little red-rimmed.

 "Take care, alright?" Said Hawke.

Aveline nodded. "You too."

* * *

"So what’s with all the paperwork?" Isabela said to the mirror as she frowned at her reflection critically.

"Doing some work for Aveline," Hawke replied. She had the file from the Ninette case spread out all over Isabela's bed, and was poring over them idly, cigarette in hand.

"Looks dull," commented Isabela.

"A woman's gone missing." Hawke said. "Though I talked to her husband this morning, and he was vile. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if she'd run off and left him."

Isabela frowned, sat on the bed beside Hawke and picked up the photo of Ninette. "Hmm. She's pretty."

"Way too good for this Ghyslain asshole. I almost didn't take the case- you should have heard how he was going on about her. Like she was a dog that needed to be dragged home." Hawke sighed. "But you know. She really could be in danger, or something. Either way, Aveline pays me."

"Well, I do love a mystery. What are our leads?"

Hawke laughed, took a drag from her cigarette. "You're playing detective with me now?"

"Well, I dressed up as a sexy cop for this weirdo in Rialto once. How different can this be?"

Shaking her head, Hawke pushed a paper towards Isabela. "They gave me a list of contacts, people who were involved in Ninette's life. They all seem fairly boring, but I like this one." She tapped a name that she'd underlined with red ink several times. "Ghyslain claims Ninette was involved with this guy. Jethann. He works at the Blooming Rose."

The Blooming Rose was the only strip club worth mentioning in Kirkwall- but it was more than that, and infamous because of it. Everybody knew the Blooming Rose provided many more services than were advertised. The owner, a shadowy figure known only as Harley, had transformed it from the seedy dive it reputedly once was to a place of class and distinction. It was only a brothel for those who could afford it. Aveline said the guard had been trying to shut it down for years.

"Ooh, a stripper! This has taken a turn for the interesting." Isabela said. "You think he did something to her?” 

"I doubt it. Why would he purposely lose such a loyal customer as Ninette? But he's more likely to know something than this bunch of trophy wives and social climbers Ninette hung around. You know how it is. You're always more likely to open up to someone if you're shagging them."

Isabela smirked. "Is that right?"

"I don't know, do you feel like I've... opened up to you?" Hawke replied suggestively.

"You could stand to open up a little bit more, honestly." Isabela said, grinning.

* * *

"Ah, the Blooming Rose," Isabela commented as they entered. "Where people come... and then go. You know they say the difference between a regular stripper and a hooker is... well, their shoes are nicer."

"I doubt anyone's looking at their shoes." Hawke joked. "I'm certainly not."

"I really think they should get some more men in here." Isabela mused. When Hawke just looked at her blankly, she huffed. "Anders would back me up. What happened to feminism?"

"It's a brothel masquerading as a strip club, so I think feminism's running as far away as it can right now." Hawke shrugged, trying to avoid the suggestive stares of several dancers. Today she was there on business. But it was uncanny how accurate their gaydar was- they must have had her flagged upon entry.

"Hi, can you help me?" Hawke said to a nearby worker.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," She said, smacking her gum obnoxiously.

"I'm looking for Jethann."

She frowned. Possibly wondering where the glitch was in the mysterious gaydar system, so for the sake of her pride Hawke felt like she needed to clarify. "I'm looking for a friend of his. Just want to ask him some questions."

"Alright then, love. He's upstairs, room 48."

Hawke tucked a bill into her bra strap for good measure, then grabbed Isabela and headed for the stairs.

Jethann was where she said he'd be, though thankfully alone. He was an elf, slim and fiery-haired with purple eyes that must have been contacts, practically swallowed by the silk kimono he was wearing.

"Well, hello," He said, setting down the makeup brush he'd been holding and standing up. "This is unexpected, though not unpleasant. What can Jethann do for you two beautiful ladies?"

"Stop talking in third person, for one thing." Hawke said.

"I don't know, it's kind of cute." Isabela said.

"Thank you!" He beamed at Isabela. "Now, I'm a very busy man, but I think I can manage to squeeze the two of you in somewhere."

"How diligent of you." Hawke said sarcastically.

"Well it's like I always say- why work if you're not working hard?" He thrust his hips slightly for emphasis.

Isabela giggled. "Ooh, I like him. He reminds me of someone."

"I wonder who." Hawke crossed the room, pulling a crumpled picture of Ninette from her pocket. "You know this lady?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. My dear friend, Ninette. I heard she finally left her good for nothing husband. Good for her!"

"You heard that? Are you sure?"

"Well, not exactly. You know how the Rose's rumour mill is. Or maybe you don't know, I really have no idea." He picked up a mascara wand and returned his attention to the mirror. "Listen, you aren't the only ones asking about Ninette."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmhmm. Some Templar named Emeric." Jethann frowned. "He wouldn't sleep with me either."

Hawke sighed. Why did it always come back to bloody Templars? "So, you think Ninette was involved with magic or something?"

"Ninette? Oh no, she was always wary of that, and rightly so. The templar seemed to be conducting his own personal investigation. A bit unorthodox if you ask me."

A lone templar, separated from the pack. That she could deal with. "Right. Anything else?"

"Hmm. It's possible Ninette ran off with her new boyfriend." Jethann said. "The one who was always sending her those white flowers."  

Hawke and Isabela looked at each other. There had been no mention of a boyfriend. "I spoke to her husband, and he seemed to think the flowers were from you." Hawke said. "There's another guy involved?"

"Oh, I'm sure there was more than one," chuckled Jethann. "Ninette is a wild one, that's for sure."

"Alright," Hawke said. It was obvious Jethann knew nothing else of substance. "Any idea where we can find Emeric?"

"Try the gallows," he joked. "But really, he left his number in case she showed up. I have it around here somewhere."

He searched around, finally pulling a piece of scented pink paper out of a jewelry box and handing it to her.

Hawke copied the number down into her phone. "Thanks for all the help."

"You're very welcome," he said genuinely. "And don't hesitate if you ever want to drop by and... see me sometime."

Somehow Hawke didn't think that was likely.

They left the Rose and stopped in a nearby alley. While Isabela stood off to the side and smoked one of her skinny Antivan cigars, Hawke dialled the number Jethann had given them.

"Hello? Who is this?" Came a snappy voice from the other end.

"My name is Hawke," she said. "Is this Emeric? I'm calling regarding the disappearance of Ninette de Carrac."

"You have information?" Emeric said, tone changing quickly.

"Maybe. I'm searching for her as well and I was thinking we could pool our efforts."

"Oh," Emeric said. "Hmm. In that case meet me in Keck's Koffee Kastle in the Undercity. You know it?"

"I know it," Hawke said. It wasn't far from Anders's clinic. For a place with notably bad coffee it always seemed more enticing from the outside than was entirely natural. Hawke suspected the owner might actually be a desire demon.

She hung up, just as Isabela finished her cigar.

"So?" She prompted.

"Fancy some bad coffee?" Hawke asked brightly.

* * *

Emeric was instantly recognisable among the denizens of Darktown as someone who didn't quite belong- he was hunched over at a table nursing a cup of black coffee. He was a greying, moody looking man. If Hawke had to guess probably a recent divorcee. He wasn't obviously marked as a templar but he had a look about him all the same, something dangerous that would have stopped any prospective muggers when he was younger. Nowadays they might take their chances.

Hawke and Isabela approached him. He didn't look up until Hawke rapped her knuckles on the wooden table.

"You Emeric?" She said.

He nodded.

"Great, I'm Hawke. This is my associate, Isabela." It suddenly occurred to Hawke that she had no idea of Isabela's last name. That made it difficult to sound official, but she moved on quickly. "Shall we get started?"

"So, what are you, PIs or something?"

"Of a sort." Hawke said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emeric said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"It means we _are_ private, and we _are_ investigators." Hawke said. "Now can we get on with things?"

He seemed to realise that there was no use in prying further; he sat back and sighed. "Yeah. Look, I'm too old for this sort of thing. I'll give you all I've got and then hopefully you can take it from there."

"Alright," Hawke said. "Let's begin with your connection to Ninette. Were you close? I hear she got around."

"I never met the woman," Emeric said, sounding affronted.

"Then what's your stake in this?" Asked Isabela.

"I was initially investigating the disappearance of a Circle mage. I am, as you may already know, a Templar. One of our mages, Mharen, went missing last week." He frowned. "My searching led me to discover several other similar cases in the city. I believe there is a serial kidnapper in Kirkwall."

"What, just one?" Hawke joked. "What's to say Mharen didn't just escape from that cellblock you call a Circle?"

He bristled at that, obviously wanting to get into it with her but knowing this wasn't the place. "Mharen was always loyal. She understood the necessity of the Circles perfectly. Besides, she wouldn't have had it in her to run away. She was- is a timid woman."

"Okay, fine. What makes you think these disappearances are connected?"

"Small details. You learn to pick up things working as a templar." Emeric said. "For instance, each of the victims began receiving flowers shortly before they disappeared. A bouquet of white lilies, to be precise."

"Jethann mentioned that." Isabela pointed out. "He said they were from her boyfriend."

"Yes, well," Emeric replied sadly. "It's a statistical fact that most of these crimes are perpetrated by someone close to the victim."

Hawke exchanged a glance with Isabela. This was starting to really sound like something the police should handle.

"Do you know anything else?"

"Using eyewitnesses I managed to track Mharen to an empty warehouse in Lowtown. The trail went cold there, though." Emeric said. "Perhaps you can find something else there that I couldn't."

"Perhaps." Hawke said with a shrug.

He pulled a file folder out of his shoulder bag and began flipping through it, finally drawing out a crumpled slip of paper with an address written on it.

"Here, this is the one." Emeric said, handing it to her. "Good luck."

* * *

"Hawke, I can't." Aveline said. "You have to keep on this."

"Are you serious?" Hawke said, disbelieving. "I bring you a kidnapping and you can't take it off my hands? What sort of police department is this?"

"A very shoddy one, after the mess Jeven created." Aveline said with a sigh. "Look, if you bring me more substantial proof than the theories of an aging templar, I can deal with it from there."

"Fine!" Hawke said. "But if I bring a body back, you asked for it." She rose, knocking over some of Aveline's stacks of paper and not bothering to pick it up. "Come on, Isabela, let's- where's Isabela?"

"Chatting up my officers, by the looks of it," said Aveline grimly, looking over Hawke's shoulder out of the door. Hawke followed her gaze, and saw Isabela leaning against a wall, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and surrounded by a pack of baboons in polyester.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "She's so predictable."

"Weren't you eyeing up Brennan when you came in?" Aveline pointed out.

"Alright, yes, but, see, that's _different_." Hawke said, and having no further way to argue the point, started out the door.

"Wait-" Aveline said. Hawke turned. "You're right. This should be a police matter. I'll go with you, alright?"

"Aren't you busy?" Hawke asked.

Aveline drew herself up. "Protecting the citizens of Kirkwall is more important than paperwork. And if the Mayor disagrees he can bloody well find himself another chief."

"That's my girl." Hawke said, patting her on the back. "Come on."

She pulled Isabela away from the baboons just as Aveline emerged fully geared up, motioning for them to fall in line.

"Oh, chill out, won't you? We're not your lackeys, Aveline," Hawke said, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulder. "This is just a casual outing between friends."

"With lives at stake." Aveline reminded her.

"It's more fun that way." Hawke quipped as they descended the lift into the garage. They didn't use Aveline's customary car, but rather the special Chief of Police one. It wasn't really that different, though. Kind of messier.

"Yeah, Jeven's shit's still all over the place." Aveline grumbled. "I haven't had time to clear it out properly."

Isabela scraped a half-eaten burrito off the passenger seat and sat gingerly, leaving Hawke to squeeze in the back.

The warehouse Emeric had pointed them to was packed in between a bunch of other warehouses. Totally unremarkable, but it made Hawke uneasy. Aveline shone her torch at the numbers stamped on the walls to make sure they had the right one.

"It's locked," Hawke said, noting the chain and padlock.

"Ooh, let me!" Isabela said. "This one's easy peasy. They obviously didn't care much about security."

"It is supposedly an empty warehouse." Hawke said as Isabela worked a bobby pin around the lock and Aveline pretended to not know what was happening.

"Gotcha," Isabela said triumphantly as the chain slid free and the door creaked open.

They entered, Aveline first with the torch, then Isabela and Hawke.

"See anything?" Hawke said.

"No, it's empty," Aveline replied, swinging the torchlight around in wide arcs.

Then one by one, fluorescent lights flickered on- first the ones above their heads, then cascading back towards the depths of the warehouse.

"Okay, that was creepy as fuck." Isabela said.

Then there was a harsh gurgling sound.

"That was creepier." Hawke said.

Aveline inhaled sharply. "Over there- Maker, what is that?"

Hawke looked where she was pointing- a misshapen, vaguely humanoid mountain of flesh was lumbering towards them from behind some shipping containers, horrible groaning noises issuing from the rip in its face Hawke assumed was a mouth. Its eyes burned with the void. She'd never seen one in person, but she'd seen photographs, pictures. Was this what had become of Bethany in Ferelden's circle? She didn't even want to think about it.

"That's an abomination," Hawke said grimly. "A mage possessed by a demon."

"That used to be a person?" Isabela said.

"That's what happens to mages who can't control their power?" Aveline said, aghast. She drew her pistol. "How do we kill it?"

"The usual way," Hawke said, sparing Aveline a frown.

Aveline fired a clean shot at the thing's chest- it staggered but didn't stop, clutching its wound with one mangled claw. Hawke sent it catapulting back with a blast of force magic, then Isabela shot it a bunch of times and then it was dead. Hawke hurried over to it.

"What are you doing?" Hissed Aveline as if it was contagious.

"Seeing if there's anything to identify the victim," Hawke said, sadly. "It might be one of the women we're looking for." She saw what used to be jeans and stuck her hand into the pockets- the first one was empty, but the second contained paper.

_Hey dad,_

_I know you've given up a lot to conceal my secret, but I'm not a kid anymore. I can't burden you with this my whole life, I have to live my own life as a woman... and as a mage. It's... freeing to write the word._

_Bye, dad. Hope you make peace between what you've been taught and what you've seen someday._

_All my love,_

_Olivia_

Hawke sighed, pocketed the letter.

"What was it?"

"A letter to her dad. Thrask, remember him? I'll make sure he gets it."

Isabela placed a warm hand on her shoulder, and Hawke stood up.

"We still don't know what this has to do with Ninette and the others," she said. "Let's keep looking."

They searched, until Isabela called out- "Over here!" And they hurried to her.

"Oh, Maker's breath." Aveline said, looking down.

There was little there but a smear of blood and human bones. A glint of metal shone from between them.

Taking a pen from Aveline's belt, Hawke hooked the metal object and pulled it up.

"It's a ring. ‘Forever faithful, forever yours. Ninette.’" Hawke sighed. "Looks like we've found our missing woman."

"Yes," Aveline said. "But she's no longer yours. This has been officially ramped up to a murder investigation. I'm sending for backup. You two better make yourselves scarce."

"When do we get payed?" Hawke said.

"Really, Hawke?" Aveline snapped. "A woman has been murdered here."

"Well, you said she's no longer ours," Hawke pointed out. "So I was just making sure I get what is. But it's fine, I'll collect it tomorrow."

Aveline shook her head, pulled out her radio.

Isabela and Hawke made themselves scarce, Hawke dialling Emeric as they did.

"Hello, who is this?"

"Hawke again," Hawke said. "You didn't do a very good job searching. We found an abomination and some bones."

“There’s magic involved? Fuck.” Emeric swore. "So, Mharen... Mharen and the others are dead?"

"If not, watch out for a bunch of boneless women flopping through the streets." Hawke said before she could stop herself.

"Have some respect!" Spluttered Emeric on the other end.

"Don't kill yourself," Hawke said. "Listen, it’s in police hands now. Maybe it's time for you to settle down and stop playing Sherlock Holmes. At your age that can't be healthy." And she hung up.

She glanced at Aveline’s name in her contacts, thinking about the look in her eyes when she’d seen the abomination. It was terror, and Kirkwall didn’t really need the police chief being as terrified of magic as someone like Meredith Stannard. Hawke had thought she was making progress, but things like abominations didn’t help. Hopefully their trip up Sundermount would sort this out.

"It's never boring with you around, is it?" Isabela remarked. "First a scandal in the KPD, then blood mages, then a murder mystery."

"You don't know the half of it," Hawke said.


	6. Long Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke fulfills a promise, meets a new friend among the Dalish, and hunts for a missing mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh... I'm so sorry this took so long to update. A profound thank you to all those who showed an interest in the story before, and hopefully you see and enjoy this. Just for the record I'm pretty much always working on this story (and others), just.........extremely.........slowly..... but the next chapter is underway, hopefully it takes less time.

* * *

  _You gotta know, I'm always in the way_  
_Upside down to you, open to all_  
_These tangled knots of living finally caught me too_

* * *

 

"For the love of the Maker, Carver, shut up," Marian said irritably, oddly reminded of their first journey to Kirkwall all that time ago.

"I just don't see why we're even doing this now," he said from the back seat. "I mean, we went a whole year without returning that stupid thing. Why does it matter now?"

Aveline was silent as she drove, eyes trained on the road. Very responsible, but Hawke could tell something was bothering her.

"I don't know, we just thought it'd be a nice thing to do. The three of us. Like a reminder of how we got here."

"Then why isn't mum along too?" Carver asked.

"Do you really want her getting knifed by some elves? I hear these Dalish are a bit savage." Hawke had known exactly one ex-Dalish, back in the business, and she'd been nothing short of terrifying, with those dark face tattoos and love of murder.

"Good point." Carver said.

"Besides, do you really want that witchy curse coming down on us?"

"If it's been a year, shouldn't it be alright?"

"Depends." Hawke said. "These things can be tricky, you know."

They arrived at a crudely erected barbed wire fence. The whole set-up seemed awfully temporary and careless, but Hawke knew better. The air hummed. The Dalish mages had probably set up some kind of wards. Dropping suddenly in on the camp seemed a good way to get shot, so it was probably best they negotiate their entry carefully.

But first they had to make their presence known. Hawke sent a small bolt of force magic rattling against the wire fence, rippling over the invisible wards and hopefully triggering some kind of alarm, if these Dalish weren't totally incompetent.

Sure enough, two elves appeared on the other side shortly after. Each was staring down the length of a hunting rifle.

"Hold, shemlen," One said in a thickly accented voice. "Your kind are not welcome among the Dalish."

"Really? And I thought all this barbed wire was just to make the place more homely." Hawke joked. "Silly me."

"Is it so clever to make jokes at the end of our guns?" Snapped the male elf.

"Yeah, is it?" Carver said through gritted teeth.

 Hawke rolled her eyes. It wasn't any fun without Isabela and Varric. "Look, I've just got to have a word with your keeper."

The woman lowered her rifle curiously. "This must be the one Marethari was talking about."

"Her? A shemlen?" He said with derision dripping from his tongue. "I thought she'd be an elf. Alright then, you can pass. But any funny business and you'll eat our bullets, stranger."

They opened the gate and let them through, then shut it and bolted it securely.

"Follow the path to the camp." Said the woman, and they did, their footsteps crunching against chalky mountainside rock.

The path wound through the mountain and dumped out into a clearing, in which the elves had set themselves up a camp. A half circle of trailers, all in various states of shambles but painted brightly, enclosed the elves and the main living space. Elves in threadbare clothing glared at them suspiciously. The keeper was unmistakable, though, as she radiated a quiet magical energy that bespoke power well beyond what one would expect of a woman her size. She was tiny, wizened, grey-haired, her lined face painted with bold tattoos.

"Marethari?" Hawke asked. "We were told to bring you this." She held out Flemeth's brooch.

The old woman took it, inspected it wordlessly for a moment, then looked up again. "Andaran Atishan, travelers. I am Keeper Marethari." She beckoned with one small, wrinkled hand. "Come, let me look at you."

Hawke stepped closer, and Marethari squinted at her thoughtfully. After a moment, she smiled. "There is a light in your heart, human. Don't let it go out. You will need it."

"Thanks," Hawke replied uncertainly.

"Yes." Marethari outstretched her hand, offering the brooch back to them. "This talisman must be taken to an old altar at the top of Sundermount and given a Dalish rite for the departed."

"And you want us to do that?" Aveline asked. "We hardly know any Dalish rituals."

"I'm sending my First—my apprentice— with you. She will perform the ritual." Marethari said, pressing the talisman into Hawke's palm.

"Uh, alright." Hawke slipped the brooch back into her pocket, confused. This seemed like something the Dalish really ought to do on their own, instead of sending clueless humans. Unless it was a trap and they were all about to get robbed. That would really take the cake.

"One more thing. I must ask that when you go, you take her with you."

"With us? To Kirkwall?" Carver said. "That's weird."

Marethari's eyes darkened, and she turned away slightly. "Merrill… has chosen a new path. It's her wish, and I have no choice. Please, make sure she is safe. Dareth shiral." With that, the conversation was clearly over. A Dalish woman handed them a map of the trails, and two plastic bottles of water.

"I guess we'd better find this Merrill, then." Hawke said, after they'd thanked her and headed away from the camp.

"I didn't realise this was going to involve babysitting and weird Dalish voodoo." Carver said.

"Oh, come on Carv, we've come all this way. Besides, don't you want to see a real Dalish ritual up close and personal?"

"No."

"I second that." Aveline said nervously.

"Hey, we made a promise remember?" Hawke said.

"Did we?"

"Okay, well, _I_ made a promise, and you were there as witnesses, so you're involved now." Hawke said. "Come on."

Halfway up the hill they found another elf, a a girl who presumably was Merrill. Her clothes were dark and ragged and patchworked, hanging loose on her small frame.

She was bent over something studiously, and as they approached she heard them and started like a small deer. She stood and faced them, green eyes widening.

"Oh! I didn't hear. You must be the ones the Keeper told me about. Aneth ara."

"Are you Merrill?" Hawke asked.

"Yes—" She stopped, and horror flooded her face, her cheeks glowing red. "Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't ask your name! Unless… it's not rude to ask a human their name, is it?"

"Don't worry," Hawke said, trying for kindly. This jumpy awkward girl reminded her a bit of Bethany.  "You'll have to work harder than that to offend me."

Merrill visibly relaxed. "Oh. Thanks. I'm afraid I'm not very experienced with humans."

"That's alright, none of us are at all experienced with the Dalish." Aveline said. Even her uneasiness among the Dalish couldn't stop her naturally protective tendencies, it seemed. Or maybe cute little Merrill just fostered that tendency in everyone.

"How does this work exactly?" Carver said brusquely.

"Oh!" Merrill brushed her hair out of her dark-rimmed eyes. "Well we take the amulet up to an old Elvhen graveyard up the mountain. And then I say a few words. It's a Dalish ritual for the departed."

"Sounds pretty straightforward." Hawke said. "Shall we? I'd like to get back before dark."

Merrill nodded, then darted ahead of the group, her worn sneakers sure on the rocky trail.

They began the hike, which was trickier than it had initially seemed. Hawke was regretting wearing all black, though it didn't seem to affect Merrill much. Aveline, with her sensible shoes and unending strength, ploughed ahead of them to catch up with Merrill, leaving the Hawke siblings trailing behind a little short of breath.

The trail flattened out and widened onto a small clearing obviously used by hikers, as a firepit and peeling wooden picnic bench remained. A single Dalish man crouched by the firepit, attempting to light it. He looked up at their approach, and his face immediately twisted in disgust.

"So I see the keeper finally found someone to take you from here." He said, almost gloatingly. "Good riddance."

The cruelty of this statement was jarring, as was Merrill's obvious hurt. Carver tensed angrily next to her, which was kind of cute. Just like how he'd always want to protect Bethany.

"Think what you like, Tamras, but I know I'm right. The rest of the clan will see that in time." Merrill said with great dignity.

He snorted. "Go, shemlen." He spat at them. "We cannot be rid of this one too soon."

"Come on," Hawke said quietly, steering Merrill by the elbow. "What was all that?" She asked when they were out of earshot.

"Oh. That was..." Merrill sighed. "You're not seeing the Dalish at their best, I'm afraid."

"Really? I think they're just marvelous. I expect I'll be invited to all the elfy tea parties soon."

"There are no elfy tea parties." Merrill said in genuine confusion.

"Sarcasm." Carver interjected. "She does that a lot."

"Oh dear." Merrill said. "I really don't understand humans. I've only met one and he was very different from you. A grey warden."

"Really? I wonder if Anders knows him." Marian said. "And you're doing fine. Honestly. Zero sarcasm."

"Thank you." Merrill said, smiling. "Come on. But be careful. Restless things prowl the heights."

They ducked into a small cave, pushing vines aside so they could pass. Marian took note of an increasing amount of a strange, wispy, white substance coating the walls as they went in.

"Ooh, gosh. I'm so glad I'm not alone." Merrill said. No sooner had she spoken than a hellish hissing sound filled the small space, and something huge and hairy and leggy launched its horrifying self towards them. "Spiders!" Merrill shouted.

Hawke tried to focus her energies to cast a spell but suddenly bright electricity filled the room- there was a sizzling sound, a foul smell, and the spider was belly up. Dead.

Merrill stood over it, breathing hard, outstretched palms bearing that telltale singe.

"Hey! You're a mage!" Hawke said. She ignored Carver's sigh behind her.

"All keepers know a bit of old magic." Stated Merrill matter-of-factly. "I don't get to do a lot of fighting, though. I'll try not to hit anyone. On our side, I mean."

Hawke felt a rush of warmth towards her, somewhat Bethany-related. "Keep frying those bastards and you'll do fine." She said.

Merrill beamed and Hawke grinned back. Then Aveline tapped her on the shoulder, and they hung back while Merrill skipped ahead with Carver. Except Carver didn't skip.

"Hawke, I don't know about this. You and Anders are one thing, I have to put up with you whether I like it or not, but I don't know about smuggling an apostate into Kirkwall."

"You're not smuggling anything. Besides, look at her. She wouldn't hurt a fly. A spider, maybe, but-"

"I learnt from Wesley there's no such thing as a harmless mage."

"And I learnt there's no such thing as a harmless templar, but I trusted you and Wesley." Hawke said pointedly. "Besides, we said we'd take her to Kirkwall. You don't have to be her best friend."

"Okay," said Aveline. "I do trust you."

"Thank you." Hawke replied, bemused by this oddly civil conversation. "Let's catch up."

They hurried to the mouth of the cave, where Carver and Merrill were waiting, talking excitedly.

"Yes! Shredded Vein Seven is the shit!" Carver was saying enthusiastically. "I've never met a girl who listens to them. That's so cool."

"Do you like Blood Anvil? I don't get to listen to a lot of Dwarven metal, only CDs the hunters can find. But they're my favourite." Merrill's eyes were shining. "Are there concerts in Kirkwall? I've never been to a concert."

"What? We have to go sometime. I mean, as friends. That would be so cool."

Hawke resisted the urge to poke fun at the violent blush colouring his cheeks, but resolved to do it later. For now they had a ritual to do and a spooky mountain to hopefully leave soon. Now that they were out in the open, Hawke suddenly felt the magic of the place throbbing in the back of her skull; she was a trespasser here, and the spirits of this place were telling her to leave.

"Can we get a move on?" She said. "This place gives me the creeps."

Merrill nodded, hurrying forward. "There should be a barrier right here. I can break through it though." She rummaged around in her little drawstring bag, then hunched over with her back to them.

Hawke could faintly make out the silvery threads of magic making up the barrier. It was strong, and old. The funny thing was it almost seemed to be designed to be broken, and then to automatically reseal itself. It was a gate, rather than a barrier, looking for sacrifice-

Hawke put two and two together as soon as a swirl of red magic and a burnt metallic smell exploded from Merrill. The girl was a blood mage. It took one to know one so intimately, Hawke supposed, watching Merrill wipe her bloody palm on her dark leggings. Her gaze flicked to Aveline and Carver, but they hadn't realised. Good, it was best that way.

"Is this the place?" Hawke asked.

"Yes. Can't you feel it?" She shivered. "They’re sleeping here in _uthenera_. The endless dream, they called it." She shook herself and headed towards the altar situated near the cliff top. "I place the talisman here, and then I recite the prayer." Hawke passed her the necklace.

Merrill took a deep breath and began.

" _Hahren na melana sahlin_

_emma ir abelas_

_souver'inan isala hamin_

_vhenan him dor'felas_

_in uthenera na revas."_

They waited— a second passed, then two, and Hawke was just about to open her mouth when the necklace glowed white-hot on the stone altar, and then cracked, brilliant light momentarily blinding them to the figure solidifying in front of them.

"Holy Maker," Aveline said.

"No fucking way," Hawke said once she could see. "It's you!"

Flemeth  gave a dry chuckle, smoothing out her pantsuit. "Well. So refreshing to see someone who keeps her end of a bargain. I half expected to end up in some pawnshop somewhere."

"Oh, I tried, but they wouldn't take it. Maybe 'cause it had a witch inside?"

Flemeth chuckled. Her gaze roved over Aveline and Carver, landing on Merrill.

Merrill had dropped down to one knee, eyes on the ground. "Andaran Atishan, Asha'bellanar," she said reverently.

"One of the people, I see. So young and bright. Do you know who I am, beyond that name?"

"Only a little." Merrill said, still on her knees.

 "Then stand up. The people bend their knee too quickly."

"So why didn't you tell us you were actually in the thingy?" Carver demanded.

"Just a piece. A small piece, but it was all I needed." She smiled. "A bit of… insurance, should the inevitable occur. Which if I know my Morrigan, it already has."

"Who?"

"Just a silly girl who thinks she knows what is what better than anyone else." Flemeth gave a bark of laughter. "And why not? I raised her to be how she is, why should I expect less?"

"So… either your daughter or your worst enemy?"

"I don't think she quite knows, either." Flemeth said. "I should be going. And so should you. Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. But first- some advice."

"Oh great," Hawke heard Carver mumble.

Flemeth turned away from them, looking out over the cliff's edge at the valley below. "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment- and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether or not you can fly."

"Thanks for that." Hawke said sarcastically.

"You'd do well to heed my words." Flemeth said, turning around. "You have no idea of the role you will play in things to come."

"Are we going to regret bringing her here?" Carver said.

"Regret is something I know well." Her gaze shifted to him for the first time, and he looked nervous. "Don't cling to it, so that it poisons your soul."

"Now that's some good advice for you, Carv." Marian snickered.  
  
"Shut up."

"When the time comes for your regrets, remember me." Flemeth said, then addressed Merrill once again. "As for you, child, tread carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut."

"Ma serannas, Asha'bellanar."

Flemeth glanced at her watch. "It's time. You have my thanks… and my sympathy." With that she outstretched her arms, a fiery glow suffusing her body, growing and brightening until it was blinding- and when it cleared, a massive scaly beast with wings as big as trucks was spiralling away from the mountainside, off into the atmosphere.

"Why didn’t we know she was a dragon?" Hawke said as Merrill ran forward to get a better look, shielding her eyes with one hand. "Did anyone know she was a dragon?"

* * *

Merrill was silent as Aveline's car trundled down the mountain road, hugging her rucksack with all she owned  to her chest. Carver sat next to her, looking large and awkward in comparison. He said nothing too, which was probably for the best.

Aveline was talking quietly on the phone as she drove, trying to arrange temporary housing and a part-time job for Merrill with people who owed her a favour.

"Any joy?" Marian asked her after she'd hung up.

"Jobs, plenty. Housing is more difficult. Most people aren't willing to rent to an elf with no credit history and no documents. I can get her those, after a while, but it's still going to be tricky."

"Maybe you're not asking in the right places. Hold on." Hawke pulled up a contact on her phone.

 

> **Hawke:** Hey I have a favour 2 ask
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** surprise surprise.
> 
> **Hawke:** a friend of mine needs a place to stay in the alienage. Preferably cheap. Can u help?
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** duh. but why should i
> 
> **Hawke:** I'll owe you one. Cmon athenril
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** ok fine but u BETTER not fuck it up this time when I need u
> 
> **Hawke:** I wont
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** ok ok. One sec

"I think I've found something." Hawke said.

"Really? Who'd you ask?" Aveline said suspiciously.

"Just one of my contacts." Hawke said. "I have many connections, you know."

"Do I even wanna know..." Aveline muttered, as Hawke's phone buzzed again.

 

>   **Queen Bitch Supreme:** k got somewhere. Apt 3A, Oake bldg on arandel road. 300/mo. y/n?
> 
> **Hawke:** yes that’s great thank yoU!!
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** cool u owe me big time don’t forget

Hawke chose to not respond. "Okay, it's sorted." She sent a text to Varric asking him to meet them there to check it out. She didn't trust Athenril further than she could throw her, although that was  actually quite far when you took her aptitude for force magic into account.

Aveline dropped them off in the alienage, near enough to the address Athenril had specified.

"Anyone else starved? I'm starved." Hawke said.

"Ooh, yes, I am a little."

Hawke led the way to a nearby dumpling shop, texting Varric to update him on their location.  She payed for all three of their servings, (Merrill's with extra pickles, Carver's no hot sauce, Marian's extra hot sauce) and they sat down at the counter to eat. All that hiking up and down the mountain really stirred up an appetite, and by the time Varric joined them their dishes were wiped clean.

"You can't seem to stop making odd friends, can you, Hawke?" The dwarf said with a good natured chuckle. "A Dalish, huh?"

"What can I say, I'm a people person."

"So glad to meet you. I'm Merrill. I'm the Dalish, in case you couldn't tell. You probably could, couldn't you?" She blushed.

"Varric Tethras, at your service." Varric said, shaking her hand. "Anyone in this blister of a city gives you shit, you come to me."

"Everyone is so kind," Merrill said. "I really can never repay any of you."

"You can repay me by keeping your… special talents to yourself." Hawke said.  "We don't need any Templars catching wind of you, and then by extension me, if you know what I mean."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Don't worry. I'll be very sneaky."

"You'll have to be. There's no place in Kirkwall for people like us." She didn't want to scare the girl, but it was doubly important to make her understand the dangers she, like Hawke, now faced. Being an apostate was bad enough, but at the end of the day, a blood mage couldn't even trust her closest friends and family for safety.

"I promise I'll be careful."

Hawke nodded. "Good. Let's go."

* * *

 Athenril and a large human in a leather jacket  were waiting for them outside the place, a measly little run down apartment block. But it would do, especially as Merrill had lived her whole life thus far in caravans and tents and probably wasn't used to much anyway. It didn't look like the safest of locations, but Hawke would set up a few wards, and Varric could talk to his contacts. When it came down to it Merrill could defend herself just fine- the idea, however, was to never have to come to that.

"Andraste's tits, finally." Athenril said when they approached. "Brought the entourage, I see."

"So have you."

"Don't mind Dace. He's just here in case any of the locals get any ideas. See, Hawke, I trust you."

"No you don't."

"Well, no, but I trust that you're not fucking stupid enough to double-cross me again."

"Fair enough."

"Good to see you, Carver. You look good. Been working out?"

"What? No." Carver said, turning red.

"Can we just get on with this?" Hawke said. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

"Wow. This little Dalish must be something really special."

"I just owe a favour to someone." Hawke said. "And now I owe you. So what do you want?"

"I'll tell you, as soon as I figure it out." Athenril said. "What's her name?"

"Her name is Merrill, and she can speak for herself, thank you very much." Merrill snapped, drawing everyone's eyes to her.

Athenril laughed. "You're a fiery one, little Merrill. I like you. And you don't need to worry, whatever's between me and Hawke stays that way. I don't really care about you, and I don't have  any intention of seeing you again. Just make sure you pay your rent on time, 'cause ultimately that falls on  me."

"I'll do my best."

"Good to hear. Here's the key. Landlord's a bitch but his first love is his bank account, and people like that are easy to manage. That's your first lesson. Welcome to civilization. And Hawke-- I'll be seeing you." She brushed past them towards the stairs, Dace in tow.

Hawke exhaled, glad to be rid of her presence. "Let's have a look, then." Merrill fumbled a little with the lock, but eventually got it open. Hawke flicked on the lights. The room was dark, and cramped, and a bit mildewy. Basically your standard alienage fair.

"Oh. No windows." Merrill said.

"Windows aren't too common in Kirkwall. Guess they wanted to make things as dark and depressing for everyone as possible." Varric said.

"It's alright. I'll brighten things up. I've never had a home before, not one that stayed in one place. It's quite exciting. You'll all visit me, won't you?"

"'Course we will." Carver said immediately.

"Ooh, thank you. It's nice to have friends. I never had many in the clan, at least not since— well, doesn't matter."

"We'll leave you to get settled in, then. If you need anything, the landlord should have a phone, or one of your new neighbours. I already wrote our numbers down for you. Aveline's on there too." She handed Merrill the numbers, written on the back side of the dumpling receipt.

Merrill hugged her tightly, which caught Hawke by surprise, but in a good way. "Thank you." 

* * *

"Was my number on there?" Carver asked as they headed back down the hall.

"No, why?"

"Just wondering. Oh, shit-" Carver stopped abruptly, throwing an arm out to stop them as someone came out of a doorway near the stairs. A tall man with a crisp uniform and shiny badge. A templar. Instinctual panic rose, but then he turned around, his face coming into view. Surprised, Marian realized that it was the Templar from the wounded coast, Thrask. The one whose daughter was— had been— an apostate.

An elf woman followed him, wringing her hands. Like Merrill, she had tattoos on her face. "Please, Mr. Thrask. He won’t go to the Circle willingly, but it’s the only place."

“Madam, we’ll do our best to find your son, but I can’t guarantee his safety if he continues to resist Templar jurisdiction.” He cleared his throat. “He’s going to have to turn himself in.”

 “I’m trying to find him, but—"

“Most of my colleagues are not quite as… understanding.”

"Well, that’s the understatement of the century." Hawke said. “Long time no see, Thrask.”

“You know this guy?” Carver hissed.

 “Oh, Miss… Hawke, was it? I didn’t expect to see you down here.” His brow furrowed. “Right, well, I have to get back. Arianni, please don’t hesitate to call us if you hear anything.” He nodded to her and to Hawke and made to leave.

“Wait,” Hawke said. Olivia’s letter was still in the pocket of her jacket mingling with bus tickets and old gum wrappers, a little more crumpled than before. “I found this, and I think it’s yours. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Thrask took the note, confusion drying to sadness. “How did you find— no, it doesn't matter anymore. Thank you for returning this to me."

"I figured you didn't want the templars to know about her."

"No, I.... I appreciate your discretion." 

"Sure. I'm surprised you're out and about. I would've thought you'd be on leave or something." 

"They tried, but at the moment I'd rather be working. It’s… painful, but helping distraught parents ensure the safety of their children seems more important than ever. I will find him, ma’am.” To Hawke he said: “I won’t fail Arianni and Feynriel like I did with Olivia. Have a good afternoon.” 

She smiled sympathetically at him as he left.

“What was that all about?” Carver asked.

“It’s a long story. Anyway— Arianni, right? Do you often have Templars ‘round for tea?”

"What? Oh. Almost never, if I can help it. But it's my boy, Feynriel. He’s all I have. I couldn’t bear to send him to the circle."

"So what changed?" Hawke said.

"His connection to the fade…it gives him nightmares, dreams of demons." She looked at the ground, then back up. "I’d rather lose him to the circle than to himself. But when he learned I’d contacted Ser Thrask, he ran away.”

“Understandable, given the circumstances.” Varric commented. "You try and tell a teenage boy what to do and where to go and he'll go out of his way to do exactly the opposite."

“Please, you must find him. I don't have much, but I'll pay what I can. His father, Vincento, has a shop in Lowtown. Quality Antivan Imports. He might know where Feynriel's gone, and he's more likely to tell you than a templar."

"I'll see what I can do, but can you do me a favour? A girl just moved into room 305. Look out for her, will you. She's Dalish, like you."

You have my word. I'd gladly look out for another of the People. It can be quite scary, moving to a city like this." Said the woman. "My name is Arianni. Please bring my boy back."

"We will."

* * *

"Why are you always getting involved in Magey bullshit?" Carver said once they were outside. "It's like you want to be caught."

"I'm a thrill seeker. Besides, you don't have to come with me. I'm going to see if Anders can help me with this one."

"Yeah, no thanks." Carver said. "I'll be at home."

"I've got a couple appointments myself, Hawke. As usual, Bartrand is completely useless without me. But good luck, and stay out of trouble."

Hawke sighed, waving to both her companions as they drifted off, and she towards Darktown.

Anders met her at a street corner, hoodie pulled low over his face. As usual, he looked like he hadn't slept and was possessed. Both most certainly true.

"Glad you called." Anders said. "Not a whole lot of people out there who want to help mages these days, I'm afraid."

"Really? And here I thought we were winning popularity contests."  Hawke said grimly.

A false electronic jangling sounded as Hawke pushed open the door to Vincento's shop, causing the man at the counter to look up.

"Ah, welcome. If you want to see any of the jewelry, I'll unlock the cases. Perhaps a necklace for you, _linda_? The finest Antivan rubies to grace your lovely neck."

"Oh that’s alright, my neck and I will survive. Somehow.”

"Then what can I help you with?" 

"Arianni sent us. We're here to talk about your son."

"Miss, I am a bachelor. I have never met a lady with sufficient looks or personality to tie Vincento down…"

"We're not templars." Anders said quietly, allowing a flicker of blue flame to rise from his palm. "We're here to help."

"Maldición, you are a mage! Then you can help Feynriel? I sent him to the only man I know, a former Templar named Samson. I am hearing he smuggles apostates out of Kirkwall."

"A former templar?" Hawke exchanged a glance with Anders, who shrugged.

"This time of night he's usually at underpass, near the entrance to Darktown." Vincento said, eyeing the door. "Now please, pretend we never met."

"I'd really love to." Hawke said. "Come on, Anders." 

* * *

 "Hey. You there. Haven't got any dwarf dust, have you? I'm dying for a little taste." A man lurched out of the shadows, unfocused eyes peering at them from dark sockets sunken in from malnourished and withdrawal.

 “An addict," murmured Anders. "Templars get their own men hooked on the stuff, and use it to control them." Anders was looking at him with a strange kind of pity, like he was trying very hard not to feel it. Hawke supposed that the human side of Anders instinctually wanted to help this wreck of a man, while Justice reminded him that this had once been a templar. Not for the first time, Hawke was deeply relieved that Anders' problems weren't her problems. It must have been awfully confusing.

“Are you Samson?”

"Yeah that's right. Huh. Ol’ Vincento said someone might come sniffin’ around. You need something?"

"We're looking for a kid named Feynriel. Half elf, on the run. His dad said he sent him your way."

"Hah. Yeah. The mage lad. I do remember him." Samson wrinkled his nose. "He was looking for passage out of Kirkwall, but I'm not running a bloody charity here. He didn't have a penny to his name, that much was obvious from the get-go."

"So where'd he go?"

"Eh? Oh, I pointed him towards some ship captain I know who might have found some work for the lad to do. But I dunno. Heard a rumour things might have gone southwards, heard he had some sort of dealings with Imperium slavers."

"So... your good friend is a kidnapper." Hawke exchanged a glance with Anders. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

"Not a friend. Just someone who isn't afraid to try the business."

"Now that I think about it, I did hear something about Imperium activity here in the city." Anders said. "They seemed to be looking for someone in particular, some sort of escaped convict. An elf, I believe."

"Fenris," Marian murmured under her breath. "Well I know that's got nothing to do with it. I think this is just someone making quick cash on the side. Nothing like a little human trafficking to help pay the bills."

"You're right. Feynriel doesn't exactly fit the profile of dangerous convict, and he's only half elf." Anders nodded. "I say we find this captain and see what he's up to."

"Agreed."

Samson cleared his throat. "Hey, what about me? I helped you, didn't I?" Don't I deserve something in return?"

"What's you deserve is to help yourself," Anders said quietly. There was a moment of internal debate, then he reached into his pocket for his wallet, handing Samson some cash he really couldn’t afford to give away. "I can't help you but there's other clinics in this city that can. You need to get help."

Samson shoved the money into his pocket, shrugging sourly. "There's nobody in this blasted city that wants to help somebody like me."

Anders didn't argue with that.

* * *

 Captain Hans Reiner was easy to find; he was the one spending the most money that night at the Briny Sloop, and he and his crew were intoxicated and boisterous.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. You see if you can get into his room, and I'll bring Reiner in. Then we'll get Feynriel's location out of him."

"How?"

"I didn't have a plan for that yet. Why don't you think of something while I'm debasing myself?"

He nodded, and Hawke headed for the group of sailors.

"So which one of you studs is the captain?" Hawke said lightly, hands on her hips. She'd worked at the pub for a second in Lothering and had been fired for, of all things, her “bad attitude”. Still, she’d learnt that drunk men were nothing if not utterly predictable and stupid, and frequently failed to tell the difference between a girl who wanted to fuck them and a girl who wanted to claw her own eyes out at the mere sight of them. It seemed like a fairly obvious distinction to Hawke, but the subtleties of it must have been _just_ beyond the reach of the inebriated male brain.

"That'd be me, sweetheart." Reiner stood unsteadily, clapping a meaty fist to his chest. "I ain't seen you ‘round here before. Have I?"

"I'm new. I bet you have amazing stories about your travels."

"Hah! I bet you'd like to hear them and all, wouldn't you?"

"Uh, yes." It was lucky he was so drunk, because expecting her to convince any sober person that she wanted to hear anything this oaf had to say was a bit much. "Desperately. But it's so loud in here. You know what, I bet the… acoustics are great in your room. Why don't we go up there?"

He blinked, pleased that it had literally been that easy. "Go? Huh? To my room?"

"Come on," She said impatiently. "Don't you want to go somewhere more… private so we can chat? Just the two of us?"

* * *

 "I thought you said just the two of us." Reiner eyed Anders balefully from the chair he was tied to. "Wh— what do you want from me?"

"Feynriel. Start talking."

"Don't know any fucking Fennel—"

"He's my friend, you might know him from the time you kidnapped him and sold him to slavers. Does that ring any bells?"

He paused, and one could almost see the sluggish gears of his intoxicated brain trying to make sense of his situation.

"You templars?"

"Oh no. Worse."

"Worse."

"We're blood mages."

He paled. Anders tossed her an exasperated glance, which she ignored.

"Evil blood death mages. You ever heard of an Avarrian blood sucking worm torture ritual? I find it's quite effective."

"Holy Maker- you people are crazy! Please, I swear I don't know that much. All I know is I deal with a guy named Danzig. That's all I know. Please don't use blood magic, please, please-"

With a nod from Marian,  Anders raised his hand and a cloud of purplish grey engulfed Reiner, who began to softly snore, head lolling.

"Untie him and let's go."

"Go where? That's not much to go on."

Marian sighed. "I know a guy who might be able to help. It's just— well, never mind. I'm sure you guys will get along just fine. Just— don't get political. Actually, just don't talk much if you can help it."

"I haven't evaded the Chantry for so long without understanding how to be careful, Hawke. I get the point."

It was fully dark by the time they arrived in Hightown, and Hawke was beginning to worry they wouldn’t find Feynriel before dawn.

"You have friends in high places, I see." Anders remarked as the lift slowly climbed up towards Danarius’s penthouse.

"Well, Fenris is really more of a squatter. Here we are."

Anders wrinkled his nose. "Ugh. It stinks of blood magic and corruption. Grave injustices were committed here. Who is this guy we’re meeting again?"

"Don’t worry, he's not the unjust one you're looking for. He just lives here." She stabbed a finger at the doorbell, hoping Fenris was home. "Fenris? It's Hawke." She said into the intercom.

There was a pause, then a crackle of static. "Hawke. What can I do for you?"

"Feel like tracking down some Imperium slavers?"

There was silence again for a while, then the door opened and Fenris peered out. "Do you even need to ask?" He spotted Anders. "Who's this?"

"Uh, hi." Anders said, looking at Fenris with undisguised interest. "I'm Anders. A friend of Hawke's."

"A pleasure." Fenris said, though not very convincingly. "Come in. Do you want some wine? Danarius left a bunch in the pantry, some expensive vintages and the like."

"Maybe later." Using the toe of her boot, Hawke prodded the desiccated remains of a demon she vaguely remembered killing. "Love the décor, by the way."

"Tell me what this is about, Hawke."

"Well, we're looking for someone who we think was kidnapped by slavers. Does the name Danzig sound at all familiar?"

Fenris eyed her thoughtfully. "It does, yes. I've had my eye on him since he arrived in the city. He's a low level mage, of no connection to Danarius, but I wouldn't mind punching a hole through him, either."

Anders nodded. "It's no less than what slavers deserve." Fenris actually glanced at him this time, with something that could have been approval. Maker, this was beautiful to witness. Now if only she could keep the discussion away from mages for the rest of the evening—

"I'll rip his filthy mage heart out." Fenris said and stalked past them out of the door. "He and all his kind."

Anders gaped at him. "Excuse—"

Hawke cut across him. "Hey, Fenris, you really should think about getting rid of those demon corpses. Who knows what it's doing to your delicate Feng Shui."

"I don't follow that philosophy. Appearances hardly matter. It's just a place to stay until Danarius comes back. Let's see if he's brave enough to try and reclaim what is his— or what he thinks is his."

"You're a slave." Anders said, in what Hawke considered a rather unwise choice of words to express his realisation. Fenris, however, barely reacted.

"I'm no slave. I escaped."

"Which must be quite the story. How'd you do it, exactly?"

“Some other time, perhaps.” Fenris replied dismissively. “Let’s cut through Lowtown. Last I heard he was holed up in Darktown.”

“Why’d you never take this guy out?”

“I was going to,” Fenris admitted. “But I wasn’t sure whether I could face them alone.”

“You could have asked me.”

Fenris looked at her, a little surprise registering in his eyes. “I… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We can get to Darktown through here.” Anders said. “It puts us right around the corner from the clinic.”

He led them through a mostly empty car park to an in case of emergency stairwell that descended underground. The bottom level of the car park was populated by tents and squatters huddled around rubbish bin fires. Past them was a door that led to the winding alleys of Darktown.

"I know where we are. My sources tell me he's staying near here." Fenris murmured. 

"This is awfully close to my clinic. Why didn't I know about Tevinters camping out on my doorstep?"

"They're good at nothing if not hiding," Fenris said grimly as they arrived at an unassuming wooden door. "I suggest you change doctors, if you can. Preferably one who doesn't practice out of a Darktown hovel."

"No, it's my own-" A warning look from Hawke silenced him. "Uh, should we knock?"

"Allow me." Fenris said, and balled up his fist, blue light gathering around it with increasing speed, until he swung forwards with all his might and punched a hole clean through the wooden door. He then reached for the handle on the other side and turned it. With a soft hiss, the door swung open to reveal grimy carpeted steps cascading down into a dark basement.

Anders gaped. "What the hell was that? I've never seen magic like that."

"Why would you have?" Sneered Fenris. "This is my unique curse, seared into my flesh by fucking Tevinters. Mages, like Danzig… and like Hawke."

Hawke raised her eyebrows. "You'd think I'd remember searing magic into your flesh, but I can’t seem to recall a thing."

"I didn't mean you personally are responsible. But I'm a living example of the dangers your kind can do."

"Turning people into massive bigots, you mean?" Anders interjected, crossing his arms.

"What's it to you? If you'd seen what I have, you'd understand that mages deserve to be put away."

"I highly doubt that I’ll ever understand that."

"Why?" Fenris's lower lip was curling in suspicion. "Why does this matter so much to you?"

"Hey, can we get back on track here?" Hawke said placatingly. "We all agree that kidnapping is wrong, slavery is worse, and that Feynriel is in serious danger. Let's save the political debates for later and descend into this creepy piss-smelling basement, alright?"

"Fine." Fenris said.

"You're right." Anders said. 

"Alright, let's go then." Hawke said, relieved and kind of surprised the way they both fell in line without another word. She was just like Aveline, except marginally less boring and ginger.

They descended, passing a series of rooms until they saw light shining out from underneath a door. Hawke pulled out her gun, signalled to Fenris that he should punch the door again. But as he drew back his fist to do so, it slammed open.

“Ooh, scary.” Hawke said sarcastically. “Hope there’s no evil mages lurking about.”

Fenris snorted and charged inside. They followed him and found him surrounded by men in dark suits and tinted glasses. It was quite something, like a scene out of the terminator, only a low budget knock off version. One of them stepped out of their midst.

“If you wanted mages, you’ve come to the right place.” Said the leader, sparks flying threateningly from his palm. "Look boys, volunteers! Can't wait to see what they'll pay for you back home."

Hawke rolled her eyes. This was all disastrously cheesy. "Fenris, you wanna deal with this?"

"With pleasure." Faster than Danzig or anyone could react, he ignited his fist, he plunged it through the man's chest and twisted viciously. The slaver howled with pain, blood spattering the lapels of his suit and his pressed white shirt. His gun skittered across the floor and Anders picked it up. Then Fenris pulled his hand out and Danzig collapsed, breathing hard. The other men stared, horrified.

"A-Andraste's great flaming arse, how did you do that?"

"Doesn't matter. Tell us where Feynriel is, or Fenris gets to rip out your heart and keep it as a souvenir." Hawke said. "None of the rest of you move."

"Fine, fine- I'll tell you. Fuck- we smuggle them through this building. In the utility closet, down the hall is a passage that leads to some abandoned mansion in Hightown… we keep them there." He looked up at her. "This goddamn shit isn't worth the effort. We'll never come back to Kirkwall, I swear."

"Well that's awfully considerate."

"Can— can I go now?"

"Sure! Oh, wait, let me think— no." She looked at Fenris. "All yours."

He grinned wolfishly, and ignited his fist again.

As Fenris stood triumphantly over whatever was left of Danzig, Anders and Hawke worked their way around the room, tying the hands of the remaining men with zipties found in a nearby box along with all manner of interesting and incriminating things. "The KPD can have you." She said as they were leaving.

"Tell them whatever you like, see if they'll believe you. I mean, I guess you will have his body-" She stopped, then spread her palms and incinerated Danzig and a good chunk of carpet, leaving only ash. "Oops. Nevermind."

 

> **Hawke:** Ever wanted a pile of human traffickers tied up and surrounded by irrefutable evidence? Its your lucky day come to 43 Tinlop Way in Darktown.
> 
> **Hawke:** Youre welcome btw
> 
> **Aveline:** what????
> 
> **Hawke:** just get down here you'll see

"That was fun." Fenris said once she was done texting. "You may be a mage, Hawke, and completely insufferable, but you get things done. I respect that."

"That was excessive." Anders said unhappily. "He might have deserved to die but you didn't have to enjoy it so much. Justice isn't about rampantly killing and maiming people for fun."

"I don't believe in justice." Fenris said simply, leading the way to the utility closet. "It's never done me any good."

"Psycho." Anders muttered when he was out of earshot.

"Oh, come on, Anders, pick your battles."

"I am. Clearly, your friend is criminally insane, and clearly he hates mages. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but that includes you, me, and a host of other people I know and care about. I'm perfectly justified in considering him a threat."

She sighed. He had a point, maybe more than a point, but Fenris wasn't a bad guy. Well, probably not anyway. "You weren't proselytizing about ripping those Templars apart in the chantry."

"That wasn't me, it was-"

"Justice? That equally murderous little man you keep in your head?" He said nothing. "In case you haven't realised, there's a pretty strong case for both of you being criminally insane. So just… play nice for now."

"Fine. But you know I'm not going to stand by and let anyone threaten the rights of mages in Kirkwall. He's your friend, but some things are just more important."

"I know."

"Are you coming? I finally got this damn thing open." Called Fenris, and they hurried to catch up. "There was a button here that released this sliding door. More mage tricks, I imagine."

Hawke cast a last warning glance at Anders and hurried up the stairs.

"Feynriel? Feynriel, are you up here?" It was dark in the house, so she conjured a ball of light and held it up to illuminate the walls. It was one of those old, stately houses, though slightly diminished by cobwebs and disuse. Over the fireplace was a lavish adornment, some sort of crest. It looked oddly familiar.

Anders had a little pen light on his keychain; he peered at the dusty photographs on the shelves. "Wonder who lived here. Look, this woman looks like you, Hawke. But blonder."

"Really? Let me see."

Oddly enough, it was Gamlen she recognised first- he had barely changed, other than getting considerably more grey and bitter. But her mother… Hawke brushed Leandra's laughing face softly with her finger. She hadn't looked that happy as long as Hawke had known her.

Of all the houses in Kirkwall, they'd ended up in her family's old home completely by coincidence. And now that she was here... 

"Um, let's split up. We'll find him faster that way."

"Good plan."

"Call me when you find something." Hawke hurried past them into the study, which was striped with the light of the street lamp outside coming through the blinds. She headed for the desk, where a mess of papers sat as if they'd been abandoned in great haste, now coated in a fine layer of dust. As she was rifling through, a card slipped out onto the floor; she picked it up, a name catching her eye.

 

> Malcolm Hawke contacts:
> 
> Maurevar Carver. 5556790201 maurevarcarver@gmail.com
> 
> Tobrius Banks. tbanks@circle.co.k

She pocketed it, then resumed her search for the will. Unfortunately, this was clearly Gamlen's work and therefore had no organisation to it of any kind. It was largely bills and damning notices of debt. Then she extracted a yellow manila folder, and peered inside.

"Should make an interesting read on the bus home." She muttered to herself, folding it and shoving it in her pocket. Her phone buzzed violently against her leg.

"Anders?"

"We've found him. In the kitchen. Better come quickly before your attack dog puts a hole in him."

Hawke left the study and hurried down the hall to the kitchen. Anders was seeing to Feynriel, who looked on the most part whole other than a few bumps and bruises. Fenris stood off to the side, glowering.

"You must be Feynriel. I'm Hawke. Your mother is worried sick about you."

He looked up at her entry. "I doubt that. She was ready to sell me to the Templars, wasn't she? And now I suppose you'll be taking me to the gallows."

"You failed to mention the boy was a mage." Fenris said icily.

"It must have slipped my mind." Hawke said with a shrug. "I suppose you think being a mage means he deserved to be shipped off into slavery."

"I don't think that at all. I think what he deserves is to be in the gallows where they can control him and make sure the city is safe from him."

"There's no practical difference between the circle and slavery." Anders said. "Oppression is oppression,  and in both cases the bodies and labour of the oppressed are exploited for material gain by the ruling class."

"Preach!" Feynriel chimed in.

"Shut up, boy. How you would know, _Anders_ , having experienced neither?"

"Clearly you know me and my life story so well." Anders snapped. "I've seen exactly what the Templars do. I lived it. And like you, I escaped my tormentors."

Fenris narrowed his eyes in realisation. "You're nothing like me. I should have known what you are from the start."

"Why pay for cable when you can just put these two in a room and let them go at it? Quality entertainment. Satisfaction guaranteed." Remarked Hawke to Feynriel. "Okay boys, you'll all be relieved to hear that we’re officially done here. You can go your separate ways and never set eyes on each other again."

Fenris exhaled, nodded. "I've had enough of mages for the evening. I think I'll go home and drink a bottle of wine. Or two."

"Don't die." Hawke said, but he just scoffed and stalked out, leaving the three mages. "Such a happy, well-adjusted young fellow," she sighed.

"I can't believe I thought he was cute when we met." Grumbled Anders. "It's so hard to meet anyone around here who's normal."

"So said Anders, the picture of normalcy." Hawke laughed, and he gave a conciliatory chuckle. "Anyway— Feynriel, what exactly am I supposed to do with you? I'm not particularly fond of the idea of sending you to the gallows, but it's not like you can just go off on your own. You're a danger to yourself."

"So what if I have some nightmares? They're just dreams. The templars are an actual nightmare for any mage. Please," His eyes were wide and supplicating. "You can't make me go there."

"Calm down, that's not an option." Anders said firmly. "But Hawke's right. Dreams are never just dreams when you have an innate connection to the fade. You need proper training and assistance. A mage alone and on the run is easy prey for demons."

"I can't stay in Kirkwall," Feynriel mused. "Maybe— I've been thinking— maybe the Dalish could help. Mother always said mages are prized among the elves, they still know all the old ways— and I am half Dalish after all."

"You know, that's actually not a terrible idea." Hawke said. "I've met the Dalish living on Sundermount. They seem alright, if a little prickly at first. I'm sure they're very cuddly once you get to know them."

"I don't know about that, but their Keeper will definitely know about magic," said Feynriel. "Then I'll go there. _Thank you_ , you have no idea how much this means to me."

"You can stay with me for tonight," said Anders. "We'll get you out of the city tomorrow morning."

"Tell my mother I'm alright, will you?" Feynriel said.

"Of course."

Fenris had left the door wide open; Hawke closed it behind them, looking up into the arched entryway to the once-proud Amell estate.

"I'll see you around, Hawke." Anders said. "Get home safe."

"You too." Hawke replied. She watched them hurry down the darkened Hightown street, and leant back against the stone pillar behind her, thoroughly tired out. "Technically, I am home." She said to nobody in particular, and laughed softly at her own joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics by Elsiane. Apologies for any typos that might have appeared, I'm editing this at 4am haha.


	7. Enemies Among Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a harrowing experience, Hawke stumbles on some good luck that gets her one step closer to the expedition. Meanwhile, tensions with Carver rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were originally a single monstrous mega-chapter. But after looking at the word count I decided to cut it in half.

_Can I stay here? I can sleep on the floor_  
_Paint the blood and hang the palms,_  
 _On the door._  
 _Do not think I'm going places anymore,_  
 _Wanna see the sun come up above New York._

* * *

 

There was blood.

Everywhere— in her nose, mouth, eyes… she could feel nothing else. Dimly, Hawke wondered how it was that she always seemed to end up here, with a metallic taste in her tongue and veins humming with power.

42 days clean. Now it was 0.

Maker, she was bad at this.

A whimper escaped her lips as she pushed herself to her hands and knees, crawling over the corpses of the mages she'd just killed, utterly by herself, to save a Templar. The Maker, it seemed, had a sense of humour and dramatic irony even rivalling her own.

She found the Templar, still unconscious, somehow in this mess he hadn't acquired a blemish or a bloodstain. "Wake up, idiot." She grumbled, hand searching through the pockets of his uniform for well… anything, really. Even some chewing gum would have been nice to get rid of the awful metallic taste. She felt a wallet, pulled it out.

"Keran Collins. Recruit." She read aloud from his Templar badge. There was also a few bills in there, which she pocketed. "Hope you don't mind. I did just save your miserable life."

He stirred suddenly— she replaced the wallet just as he coughed violently, grabbed her wrist.

"Hey— hey, easy there. They're gone. You're safe."

"What— who.. Who are you? Where am I?"

"Some Darktown basement. You were kidnapped. What do you remember?"

He sat up, holding his head. "I remember… mages. Maleficar. They did things to me. I was… trapped. But—" He looked around, horror dawning on his face. "What happened here?"

"I'm not sure." Hawke lied. "I was trapped here like you."

"You were?"

"Yeah, um, your sister—"

"Macha— is she okay? Is she—"

"Don't worry, she's fine. She hired me to look for you. I’m a private investigator. I followed you here and ran into these charming people." Hawke gestured around them. "I guess they didn’t like me crashing the party. Next thing I knew, I was helpless and they were going to do some fucked up ritual on me. That's when I blacked out. And then I woke up here."

"This… this is crazy." Kerry's voice was hoarse. "What could have killed them? Demons?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! If a demon is out there, it's a danger to the whole city."

Hawke resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Any amateur should have been able to see that the bodies hadn’t been attacked by demons, as demons in their full form tended to leave much more noticeable remains, but that all signs pointed to the work of a mage or mages. The particularly discerning eye may have even been able to tell that blood magic had been used. What on earth were they teaching Templars these days? "Keran," She said, taking a serious tone. "We can't tell anyone about what happened to us. Especially not the templars."

He looked at her, askance. "What do you mean? They need to know about this."

"Listen to me. I heard the mages talking. They were trying to use your body as a host for a demon, so that they could infiltrate the templars. If your superior officers find out about this, what do you think they're gonna do?" She widened her eyes significantly.

"I can't lose my job—  my sister and I can't get by without the money."

Hawke laughed hollowly. "Oh, forget about your job, pal. You'll lose everything. They'll lock us up for the rest of our lives. I hear Templars are good at that."

Her words had a noticeable effect on him; he paled.

"You're not possessed, are you? Neither am I. Whatever they were trying to do, it clearly didn't work." Hawke said. "We'll say that we were kidnapped for information, and that they turned against each other. We used the confusion to escape. It's not like the evidence isn't going to support us." Vaguely, Hawke wondered if he was possessed. Tahrone and her cronies had been woefully incompetent, but there really wasn't any way she knew of to be certain. Still, this whole mess had been her problem for far too long now. Simply put, if Keran was carrying an extra passenger, Hawke didn't care.

"Alright. You're right." Keran nodded. "Come on. Let's get outside and I'll call us a car to take us to the Templar office."

"Oh, no, I'm not going there." Hawke said quickly.

"I know most people don't really trust the Templars. But we're trying to protect everyone. You have nothing to fear, I promise." He grinned. "Unless you're a blood mage." Keran laughed at his joke, and Hawke had no choice but to smile weakly and follow him.

* * *

 

And that is how she found herself at 6AM across a desk from Captain Cullen, who stared her down impassively. They'd let her clean herself up and given her a set of nondescript clothes to wear.

"Keran tells me you were kidnapped by maleficar of the worst kind," Said the captain. "Is this true?"

"Yeah."

"I am sorry for your ordeal. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how you ended up there? We're trying to understand what happened."

"Sure," Hawke said. "I was hired by his sister to find him. I figured he'd just be off drinking, or at the Blooming Rose— you know the Blooming Rose?"

"I'm familiar." Cullen turned a delicate pink, and she tried not to laugh.

"Yeah, well. That's where most of these things end up. I didn't expect this shit." Hawke said. "I asked some of Keran's fellow recruits and found a couple others were missing too."

"Ah. Yes." Cullen looked chagrined.

"Well, I did some digging and pretty soon a connection turned up. They were all… fond of the same stripper at the Rose. Idunna, the Exotic Wonder of the East. Interesting choice of stage name, but a little too ostentatious for my tastes. Anyway, I think she was using blood magic to hypnotize them."

"She didn't try to hypnotize you?"

"Uh, no. I caught her off-guard, I guess." The stupid girl had in fact tried, not realising who she was dealing with. “I’d say try and catch her, but I’m sure she’s well shot of Kirkwall by now.”

"So from there I followed the trail to the warehouse. And that's when the blood mages captured me. It was quite traumatic." _That's when I completely lost control of myself and murdered all of them. I never gave them a chance._

"I'm sorry for what you've suffered, ma'am," Cullen said gravely. "But I need to know if there's anything else you can tell me. Did you see anything— strange?"

"Well, I saw some crazy blood mages, I’d say that counts as strange." Hawke said. "But whatever they tried to do, it didn't work. I heard them arguing about it before I passed out."

"Well, that is some comfort at least." Cullen said with a heavy sigh. "Thank you for your help, Miss Hawke. I'm afraid I have to ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement. You will be compensated for your trouble, of course."

"You mean don't tell anyone about this? Sure. Not sure I'd want to." Hawke perked up. If a compensation was involved, then maybe this would all have been worth it. "Where do I sign?"

"Here." He passed her a sheet of paper. The small Varric in her head made her scan it quickly for any suspect clauses, but it seemed pretty part for the course. I, Marian Genevieve Hawke, swear not to tell anyone that the Templars are massive failures at their own job of keeping people safe from blood mages. She signed, dated, and slid the document back.

He then handed her a sealed envelope. "Your compensation. I talked the board into adding a small extra to cover the fee that Keran's sister owes you. I'm afraid that they really can't afford it, especially with Keran currently on probation."

"Thanks," Said Hawke, taken aback. Templars weren't known for their thoughtfulness. But she supposed they looked out for their own.

"Thank you, Miss Hawke. Have a good day." He returned to his computer, and Hawke left the office, heading swiftly for the exit. Being here made her feel extremely unsafe.

On the ferry back from the gallows, Hawke locked herself in a bathroom stall and took a look inside the envelope.

 

> **Hawke:** hey
> 
> **V-man:** need something?
> 
> **Hawke:** you know that deep roads thing u were planning
> 
> **V-man:** I vaguely recall
> 
> **Hawke:** got the $$$

Her phone buzzed and Varric's name lit up her caller ID.

"What the fuck, Hawke? Just yesterday I was starting to think you'd never pull it together in time."

"I've had a lucky break."

"You win the lottery or something?"

"Not exactly."

"Well shit. Do I even want to know?"

"You really don’t."

"Whatever you did, I'm sure it was some crazy bullshit. Listen, tomorrow morning we'll tell Bartrand, and tomorrow night we party. Sound good?"

"Sounds good."

"I knew you could do it, Hawke. Now the real work starts."

* * *

"Uh, B4."

"Ooh, hit. Dammit. You're too good at this, Hawke."

Hawke popped a cheeto into her mouth sagely. Since joining civilization Merrill seemed to have taken to junk food like a woman possessed, because it was the only thing ever in her house. Presumably, the Dalish only ate sticks and dirt so it made sense. "There's an art to it. Isabela's the true battleship master, she just has this way of knowing exactly what you're thinking before you've even thought it."

"Isabela's so cool, isn't she," Merrill replied dreamily, placing the little white token on her board. "I'm really glad we all went shopping together. It was so much fun. Isabela's just so nice."

"Yeah. She is." Hawke sighed. She wasn't totally sure why she'd chosen to go visit Merrill, rather than going home and getting some well-deserved rest or going to the Hanged Man to find the very woman of which they spoke and getting some well-deserved sex, but here she was. Something, something was bothering her. And it wasn't the overwhelming need to test her strategic abilities. "Listen, Merrill, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course you can, Hawke. You can ask me anything."

"Back at Sundermount, when we went through that barrier—" Merrill tensed somewhat. "You used blood magic, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?" Snapped the elf. "If you're about to lecture me, don’t. I know what I'm doing. I'm careful."

"I'm not going to lecture you," Hawke said.

"Good."

Hawke rolled up her sleeve and presented her bare arm to Merrill, who took it and uttered a little wordless exclamation. She brushed soft fingers over the raised lines of scarring that crossed Hawke's skin. 

"I was doing good, I was. But I got into some trouble last night. And I sort of… lost control. It was horrible."

Merrill pulled her into a strangely comforting hug. "Oh, don't worry, Hawke. It happens. What matters is that you're alright."

"Thanks. I just… had to tell someone."

"Does anyone else know about you?"

"Just you. I'm trying to quit, Merrill, I really am. I wish you would too. It's dangerous."

Merrill's face was resolute. "You don't have to tell me it's dangerous. I know it is. But I can't quit. I just can't. Not until I'm finished."

"Finished with what?"

Merrill stood and grasped her hand, tugging her to her feet. "I'll show you."

Hawke had never been in Merrill's room before. It was sparse, with only a bed, a nightstand, and an old television with a cracked screen. For some reason, though, Hawke felt sick while looking at it, like something twisted and corrupt was radiating from it in dark pulses.

"What is that?"

"It's called an Eluvian. In the olden days, my people used them as gateways. Only they were described as mirrors then. It's my guess that the enchantments themselves have adopted a new format to keep up with society. In any case, it's the key to saving my people.

"It looks broken."

"It is broken." Merrill crouched down next to it and switched it on. The screen filled with static. She flipped through the channels using the buttons; each one only showed static. "But I'm trying to fix it. There was a spirit who lived on Sundermount. He was going to help me, you see. That's why I was kicked out of the clan."

"You found this on Sundermount?"

"Oh no," Merrill switched the screen off again. "When we moved from the Brecilian Forest, I brought it with us. The Keeper didn't want me to, because—" She stopped abruptly.

"Because what?"

"It was found by two scouts from my clan. Tamlen and Mahariel. They… were my friends. But we never did find Tamlen, and as for Mahariel… well, we lost him too, in a different way."

"That name sounds familiar."

"You've probably seen him on the news," Merrill said proudly. "He's a hero now, saved all Ferelden from the blight."

"What, that Grey Warden? You know him?"

"Yes," Merrill said. "Or at least, I knew him a long time ago. He was tainted, and had to leave the clan to become a warden so he could survive, because they have their cure and everything. You see, just like living creatures contract the blight, the Eluvian is also sick. And that's what I need to fix."

"Are you sure it's safe to keep in your house?" Hawke asked.

"Oh yes, I've made it quite safe, thanks to Audacity." Merrill said. "That's the spirit I told you about."

"So let me get this straight," Hawke said slowly. "This thing as good as killed your two friends, so you keep it as an extremely morbid conversation piece, and then as if it's not dangerous enough, you go to a demon for help fixing the creepy thingy that killed your friends."

Merrill shook her head. "You don't understand, Hawke. We Dalish have lost everything. It's a Keeper's place to remember, to rebuild. So that's what I'm doing. The Eluvians were tied to my people's power and history, and we need them now. I will save the Dalish, whether they want to be saved or not."

"Well, you're right, I don't understand at all," Hawke said. "But I guess Dalish history isn't really any of my business. Just… be safe. This old thing isn't worth your life. If it had cable, that would be a different story, but—"

"I'm always safe," Merrill said, seemingly relieved that Hawke wasn't going to press the matter further. "Do you want to finish the game?"

"Sure." Hawke said, not mentioning that she'd seen the exact layout of Merrill's fleet on the way to her bedroom.

* * *

"You're becoming a bit of a bad habit of mine, Hawke." Isabela said, gently rolling a spliff between her fingers.

"How's that?" It was the day after her little blood mage encounter, and Hawke was lying on her back in Isabela's bed, trying to sort out some trivialities to do with the expedition. One guy wasn't answering, and she wished the other wasn't answering because he was an insufferable moron.

"Well, I usually don't like to… get too comfortable, if you know what I mean."

"Uh… no."

"Well, variety is the spice of life, as they say. I just prefer to mix it up a little, explore new areas, new people." She put the spliff down carefully on her dresser. Hawke looked at her in the mirror, her hair tumbling over her bare shoulder, dark against the white of her tank top.

Unable to focus on two things at once, Hawke tossed her phone down and sat up. "You're saying you don't want to do this anymore because you've already done it a bunch of times and you're bored now."

"I'm not saying I don’t want to do this anymore ever," Isabela said. "But I just want to make sure we're on the same page here."

"What page is that?"

"I'm saying that I like hanging out with you, Hawke. I just don't want things to be complicated."

Hawke laughed. "I'm sorry, when has this ever been complicated for you? Because as far as I was aware it's all been fairly straightforward from day one."

"No, you're right." Isabela said. "It has. But there are other people, you know, and too many times starts to feel like… I don't know… some sort of a commitment. So maybe we shouldn't do this so often."

"Okay," Hawke said, and flopped back down, snatching up her phone.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I'm kind of busy right now with this expedition anyway." Had it been Varric's idea to contract this dunce? She was going to have to have some words with him. How goddamn difficult could it be to find out what type of batteries the flashlights they'd purchased used, and the bare minimum they would need to buy?

"Okay, well, in that case, good. You never know when someone's going to get all clingy. That's always just awkward for everyone involved."

"Yeah, I guess." Hawke said. She didn't really have the time to really examine her relationship, if it could be called that, with Isabela. At least not until she came back. It was true that Hawke really hadn't been sleeping with anyone else for a while now, disregarding that little encounter with Athenril. But that didn't really mean anything other than she was too lazy to continually go out and try to score. She liked Isabela, but it was more just a matter of convenience for both parties. They were there, they were willing, it was easy, it was fun. 

"Oh good. Well, I'm glad you're fine with it." Isabela said. She didn't really look that glad, but who was Hawke to say?

"I'm just about to leave on this expedition, and what we find down there may set me and my family up for life." Hawke said. "Does it look like I've got time for anything serious anyway?"

"Yeah, good point," Isabela said, balancing the joint between her lips and flicking a lighter. "You want some?"

"Better not, I've got to meet Varric in 15 minutes and he usually wants me clearheaded," Hawke checked the time on her phone. "Despite our cancelled nuptials, you're still coming tonight, right? It's not a party without you."

"That's sweet, and duh," replied Isabela. "You know I’m anywhere where there’s free booze."

Hawke shifted herself off the bed and got to her feet. "Can I use your shower?"

"Go ahead."

Hawke stepped inside the shower and turned on the nozzle. Hot water peppered her back and she closed her eyes, thinking. Things were well under way. They'd been to see Bartrand that morning, and the stupid dwarf’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when Hawke had handed over the cash she'd gotten from the Templars. Now it was just a matter of taking care of minutiae, like the Maker damned flashlights, and _Carver_. What a mess. He was under the impression that he was absolutely going with her, whereas her mother was under the conflicting impression that he was not. She'd begged and pleaded with Marian not to risk her precious baby son in that horrible place. Of course, her eldest daughter was a perfect liberty to throw herself into danger over and over. No, not a shred of concern from Leandra on that front.

Hawke sighed, rinsing soap from her hair and shutting off the water. Despite the unfairness of it, Leandra had a point. Carver was a hot-headed little idiot and Hawke had no way of knowing if he'd be able to handle it down there. She'd have to break it to him one way or another, and he wasn't going to be pleased about it when she did. Maybe it would even drive their shitty sibling relationship to a point past salvation.

Wouldn't it be fun to find out, Hawke thought as she dried herself with one of Isabela's towels.

"Ooh, you're back!" Isabela said happily when she returned. "And naked."

"Yeah, true," Hawke said amusedly, eyeing the remnants of the joint she'd been smoking, snuffed out in the ashtray she'd stolen from downstairs. "I have to leave again though."

"Oh no, don't leave." Isabela crawled across the bed to her and took her hand in supplication. "I'm going to be so lonely without you, Hawke."

"I'll be four rooms over. You'll survive."

Isabela flopped dramatically backwards on the bed, hand reaching for the TV remote. "Ugh! Fine! I'll watch this shitty porn without you."

"You enjoy that," Hawke said, pulling on her jeans and searching around for her top.

"I will." Isabela flipped through the directory aimlessly. "You enjoy Varric."

"I won't enjoy anything until I find my shirt."

"Just take one of mine," Isabela said, examining her nails instead of the action on screen.

"Thanks," Hawke pulled on a grey shirt, which was the closest Isabela's wardrobe ever came to black. "See you later."

"Yeah." Isabela said, chewing her nails and now fully engrossed in whatever it was that was making the female actress moan so obnoxiously. Hawke took the opportunity to look at her, spread out against her pillows. Her hair was wild, her top a little too small and tight against her body. There wasn't going to be anyone like her down in the Deep Roads, so she'd better take a good mental picture now.

Hawke opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and left the room.

* * *

"About time you showed up," Varric said. "Yeah, I know about the flashlights. What you don't know is that it's even more complicated than that. You see, Bartrand originally bought solar-powered flashlights. They don't even need batteries! Pure genius, except we're going to be stuck underground with no hint of sunlight for weeks. You can't imagine how pissed off I was when I found out."

Hawke laughed. "Oh, brothers. What would they do without us?"

Varric chuckled. "But I don't need to talk about flashlights. What I need to know is who you're thinking of bringing with you."

"Uh, Anders, probably."

"Good call, his warden training will almost certainly come in handy." Varric said. "He wants to come?"

"Well, no, but he says he could use the money." Hawke said. "For his clinic, I guess."

"Anyone else interested? I can get you maximum two spots." 

"I don't think so." Carver was of course interested, but he was far from ready for it. Aveline had her job, Fenris was too unpredictable, and Merrill wasn't really an option.

"Okay, sure. Better spend this week wrapping up any business you've got in the city. After that, it's showtime." Varric rubbed his hands together. "Ready to be filthy rich?"

"Oh, I was born ready." Hawke said, grinning.

"Coming from you, Hawke, I'd believe it. I've already made arrangements for tonight, by the way, so invite all your friends. That booze wasn't cheap."

"Will do," Hawke said, standing. "I've got to get home first, take care of some family stuff."

"Sure. Later, Hawke."

* * *

It occurred to her as she climbed the steps up to Gamlen's apartment that she really hadn't been home during the day in ages. The blood mages, the Templars, everything before that seemed like years ago.  She'd been avoiding the flat for a while now- ever since she'd brought home her grandparent's will, tensions had been running higher than she cared to deal with. Leandra was barely speaking to her brother, which was understandable given that he'd cheated her out of her rightful inheritance. If it hadn't been for that weasel, they might be sitting pretty up in that Hightown mansion rather than sleeping on inflatable mattresses in Gamlen's cramped little shithole. But such was life. Hawke would get them back there, and she'd do it on her own, not through any last lingering influence of the Amell name.

"Well look who's decided to grace us with her royal presence today," Gamlen sneered upon her entry. "Seems like we hardly see you round here anymore."

"Does it seem that way, Gamlen?" Hawke said, rolling her eyes. "It's almost like I can't stand to be in the same room as you. Oh wait. That's true."

He scoffed. "Where is it you're always going, anyway? Is it that Rivaini girl from the Hanged Man? I heard you’ve been slipping it to her. What's that like— two girls? I’ve always wondered."

Hawke made a face of disgust. "Eugh. Well keep wondering, uncle, because I doubt even one girl is going to want to talk to you ever again for the rest of your repulsive life."

"Bitch," He muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

"Is mum home? Or Carver?"

"Carver's in his room, probably busy wanking as usual." Gamlen said. "As for your mother, she went out early. She'll probably be back any second."

Praying to the Maker that Carver wasn't actually masturbating, Hawke knocked on his door, loud so as to be heard over that screechy nonsense he called music.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Oh. What the fuck do you want?"

"Maybe I just want to spend time with my favourite baby brother," called Hawke, knowing it would incense him. 

"Fuck off!" Ha. Maybe one day he would learn that if he didn't let her teasing get to him so much, she wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much. But that was unlikely.

Keys rattled in the front door and it opened, letting in a windswept Leandra. "I'm home!" She called, and spotted Marian. "Oh, Marian, you're here! I have something I wanted to talk about with you."

"Sure," Hawke said as her mother hung up her jacket. "You look nice, where’ve you been?"

"I've been at City Hall," Leandra said excitedly. "Petitioning for the rights to our family home. Wouldn't it be so exciting for us to live there again? A proper home, at last. I haven't lived in one for so long."

"I liked our house in Lothering."

"Yes, but that was so _small_. I miss being able to really relax, you know?"

"No," Hawke said truthfully. She’d never lived her mother’s cushy Hightown life. "But maybe with the money from this expedition…"

"Yes," Leandra grew serious. "Have you thought about what I said? I know Carver has his heart set on going, but he's my baby. I can't lose him, not after- not after Bethany."

What about me, Hawke wanted to say, but she held her tongue. "Oh mum, I'm sure Bethany's fine."

"Are you? Because I'm not. They haven't told us anything— anything— about what happened at Kinloch. She could be dead for all we know. Killed by a Templar, or a demon…"

"We can't know that. But in any case, you don't have to worry about little baby Carver. He's not coming with me."

"Oh, thank the Maker. You'd better tell him soon." Leandra smiled. "Do you want some tea? I'll put the kettle on."

"No thanks. And I'll tell him tonight, I suppose, but I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

"It's for the best, dear."

Gamlen joined them, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Not at the table, please, Gamlen."

"It's my own bleeding table, Leandra. My own bleeding house, for that matter."

"True, uncle, but is anything you own _really_ yours?"

"Don't be an ass. There's nothing left of your rightful grand inheritance. Everything you see here I earned with these two hands." He held them up for their inspection. "I'd like some tea, Leandra, while you're up."

Carver ambled out of his room, typing furiously on his phone. He looked pleased with himself, which immediately made her suspicious. He sat down at the table without a word.

"Morning, sweetie. Sleep well?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

Hawke sidled over to him. "Who are you texting? Is it a girl?"

He turned red, which as good as confirmed it. "None of your business! Fuck off."

"My, my, such hostility at such an early hour." She said, and Gamlen snorted, causing a great plume of mentholated smoke. "It must be a girl. Hopefully one you didn't have to pay."

He looked up from his phone. "Shut up. It's not."

"Do stop teasing him, Marian."

"Alright, fine. But I'd still like to know who it is that's corrupting my baby brother." She had a thought. "Hey, it isn't one of my friends, is it? A certain…. elf, perhaps?"

"So what if it is?" He said, defensively.

"Hah!" Gamlen said. "Never knew you had a thing for those knife-ears, Carver."

"Maker's breath, will you shut up?" Marian said. "I think she's a nice girl, Carver. You could do a lot worse. She, on the other hand-"

"Whatever." Carver said, pouring himself correct flakes. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous?" Marian repeated, confused. When had she expressed the slightest beyond-platonic interest in Merrill? Oh well, who was she to try and understand the myriads of Carver's injured psyche. He was so immature sometimes.

* * *

"I think I figured it out," Anders said. He'd arrived slightly early, the first person to show up who wasn't already at the Hanged Man.

"What?" Isabela said. Her legs were draped over Hawke's on the faded leather couch near the Hanged Man's fireplace.  They'd already cracked a couple beers, with the exception of Isabela who instead hugged an entire bottle of rum closely to her chest.

"Where we know each other from. Have you ever been to Denerim?"

"Actually, yes. It's a fun city. Great nightlife."

"Did you ever spend any time at the Pearl?"

Isabela sat up. "Oh shit, I remember you. You're that runaway mage who could do that crazy ass thing with electricity. That was nice…"

“I really didn’t need to know that about either of you.” Hawke said, pulling a face. Anders laughed. 

"Ooh, look, there's Aveline. I thought you said this was going to be a cool party, Hawke."

"I'm fairly certain I never said that, seeing as I don't know anyone cool." Hawke said teasingly, signalling to Isabela that she should lift her legs so Hawke could get out and go greet the new arrivals.

"Aveline and Donnic! Well, they say it's not a real party 'till the cops show up."

"They say that, do they." Donnic said crisply, clearly not amused.

Aveline looked horribly embarassed, which was funny. "Don't listen to her, she's just joking."

"Joking? Me?" Hawke grinned. "Never."

"You're impossible." Aveline said with a sigh, taking off her coat and hanging it on the coatrack. "I could do with a drink. What do they have?"

"Depends if you're in the mood for cheap beer, cheap spirits, or trashy cocktails."

Aveline wrinkled her nose. "Hey, want a beer?"

"Thanks, but I can get my own drink." Donnic said, wandering towards the bar, where Varric greeted him. Aveline looked so disappointed that Hawke almost felt too bad to make fun of her.

Almost.

"Ooh, rejected. Is there dissent among the ranks?"

"Don't you have other guests to torment?" Aveline snapped, turning bright red. "Oh, hello Merrill."

"Hi Aveline. Hawke! Thanks so-o-o much for inviting me, I've never been to a human party before. Ooh, this is so exciting. Isabela said she was going to teach me how to do something called 'body shots'"

"Alright, that's it, I seriously need a drink," Aveline said, following Donnic to the bar.

"Is she alright?" Merrill asked in a stage whisper as they headed back to the chairs.

"The thing about Aveline is that she's never alright. That's what comes with being so straight-laced and righteous all the time." Hawke said. "Where's Carver? I thought he was coming with you."

"Sorry, no, I haven't really spoken to him in a while."

Hawke frowned. "But—" She was immediately distracted by a warm hand pulling on her wrist— Isabela, laughing and swinging the bottle of rum around dangerously. It was a great deal more empty than the last time Hawke had seen it.

"Hey, hey, Hawke," Isabela said, throwing her rum holding arm around Hawke's neck. "Who is that?"

Hawke glanced towards the entrance and- Maker's balls. Fenris. She'd sort of invited him as a joke, not thinking he'd really show up. Clearly she'd underestimated how lonely and bored the guy must have been. Luckily, he was carrying expensive wine.

"That's, uh, Fenris."

"Wow, he's very pretty, isn't he?" Isabela said dreamily. "Why don't you ever tell me about your hot friends, Hawke? You are depriving me and I demand justice."

"You left justice pouting on the couch," Hawke said to Isabela's confusion. "Anyway, Fenris is a bit… intense, so be careful."

"Oh, intense is more than fine by me," Isabela said, letting go of Hawke and inching forward. "I like 'em a little on the wild side, if you know what I mean. Dark and mysterious and things. Ooh, here he comes!"

Fenris had, indeed, spotted her and was making a beeline for them. "Hawke," He said with a nod. "I brought wine. I'm afraid I don't know the custom for gatherings like this."

"Thanks Fenris, that's lovely."

"Hi, I'm Isabela. I love your tattoos."

He curled his lip. "They're not there by choice. I see your Anders is here."

"He's not my Anders," Hawke said. "But yes, he's here, because he's my friend."

To her surprise, Fenris gave a small smile. "Don't worry. I'm your guest tonight, and I'll be on my best behaviour."

"Oh, but that's no _fun_." Isabela said suggestively.

Inexplicably annoyed by this, Hawke rolled her eyes and steered Merrill back towards Anders.

"I didn't realise Fenris would be coming," He said resentfully as they approached.

"I didn't think he'd actually show up," Hawke said. "But he's agreed to be civil."

"Civil? I can be civil. I'm perfectly civilised. Who's this?"

"Oh, yeah, I thought you two should meet. Anders, this is Merrill. Merrill, this is Anders. That Grey Warden friend I was telling you about."

Her eyes widened excitedly, and she sat down by his side. "You're a warden? Did you know a Dalish elf named Mahariel?"

"You mean the Commander? Yeah, why?"

"We grew up together." Merrill said. "In my clan. I was hoping to hear some news…"

Anders looked at her sympathetically. "I'm afraid the Commander values his privacy highly… plus I've sort of been out of touch with that lot since, um, moving away."

"What was he like? As a big hero, I mean, I only knew him when he was younger…"

Leaving them to it, Hawke decided to get another beer to replace the one she'd just finished.

"You certainly have a talent for attracting oddballs, Hawke." Commented Varric. "I don't know if I should take it as a bad sign that I'm one of them"

"Oh, better take it as a good sign." Hawke said, leaning back against the bar and eyeing Isabela, who was laughing with her palm pressed against the chest of a very stoic Fenris.  "I figure if I surround myself with as many screw-ups as possible I'll look pretty good in comparison."

"Hey, Marian." Carver had appeared out of nowhere, wearing a suspiciously smug expression. Like he had some dirt on her and couldn't wait to run to mummy with it.

"Speaking of screw-ups," Hawke said. "What are you looking so happy about?"

"Am I not allowed to just be in a good mood?"

"Uh, no." Hawke replied. She felt her phone buzz urgently several times, and checking it impeded any further snappy retorts.

 

> **I$abela:** hey hakkke ;) ;) ;)
> 
> **I$abela:** hqwke

"You're such a bitch."

"It's for your own good."

Carver just laughed, which was a fairly disturbing occurrence. "Oh please. You're just jealous."

"Of what? Your massive intellect?" Hawke called after him as he left.

 

> **I$abela:** ha wkkk guess what im drunk AF….LOL ;)
> 
> **Hawke:** are you really?
> 
> **I$abela:** ya lol

"Don't you ever think you're too rough on the kid?" Varric asked.

"It's part of growing up," Hawke said. "If he didn't make it so easy, it wouldn't be nearly as fun."

"You are one sick and twisted individual. As a younger brother myself, I can't help but feel a little sorry for him."

"I'm hardly comparable to Bartrand. I'm much prettier, for one thing."

"Hah! Good point. Though actually—" Varric stopped, seemingly having noticed something over Hawke's shoulder. "Hmm, interesting. Next you'll tell me you've invited the entire Coterie as well."

"Huh?" Hawke swiveled around to see, of all people, fucking Athenril, striding across the pub. "Oh, hell. I swear to Andraste I didn't invite her. How she'd even know about this?"

"Hello Hawke," Athenril said pleasantly. "Hello dwarf whose name I always forget. Nice party."

Varric snorted. "Thanks."

"Yeah, I'm a little surprised actually." Hawke looked down at her phone, which was still buzzing madly.

 

> **I$abela:** efnris says hi
> 
> **I$abela:** I say hi too
> 
> **I$abela:** hi hawek I'm drukkkk
> 
> **I$abela:** sry about this morning

"Why's that?"

"Well, I wrote the guest list, and I don't remember you making it on there." Hawke said. "So unless you're stalking me, I don't really see how you ended up at a party you weren't actually invited to."

 

> **I$abela:** fuck

"Don't flatter yourself, Hawke." Athenril said with a smirk. "I was invited by someone else."

Hawke was about to reply, but someone snaked arms around her waist from behind. Judging by the familiar fruity scent of some generic Victoria's Secret perfume, it was either Isabela or some weirdo wrapped in her bedsheets.

"Hawke, I'm sooo drunk."

"You mentioned that a couple of times." Hawke said, waving her phone. "You alright?"

"Oops. Silly me.  I'm perfectly fine." Isabela laughed merrily, tucking her chin over Hawke's shoulder. "You smell good. Hi," She said to Athenril. "I'm Isabela."

Athenril looked at her with contempt. "You're sure a whole lot of something, aren't you?"

"Huh?"

"Whatever. Hawke, once you're done with your lapdance, I'm ready to cash in on that little favour you owe me." Athenril said icily. "I'm going to get some free food."

"Did she just call me a stripper?"

"You did manage to lose your shirt somewhere." Varric pointed out.

"Oh, really? Shit. Where'd I put it?"

"I don't know." Hawke said, not really paying attention. Carver was standing around with an awkward-looking Aveline and Donnic, but he was staring at something else. Still with that idiotic look of smugness plastered on his face. She followed his gaze to Athenril, who waved at him flirtatiously.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hawke muttered, then gently extricated herself from Isabela's grip. "Hey, Iz, why don't you get Merrill to help you find your top? She's over there with Anders and Fenris and could use some serious rescuing."

"Good idea," Isabela agreed. "Don't go far, Hawke."

Varric shook his head. "I'm starting to understand. Even a darkspawn would look like less of a screw-up in comparison."

"He'd probably be smellier though," Hawke said. "I have to do some damage control. You hold down the fort."

"If by hold down the fort you mean drink whiskey, I'll do that."

Hawke laughed and headed for her brother, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him away from Aveline's earshot. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Ow! Let go of me! What are you on about?"

"You… and Athenril?"

"Oh, that." He said nonchalantly. "What about it?"

"Are you seriously as stupid as you look? She's bad news, Carver."

"I'm allowed to hang out with whoever the fuck I want. You're not the boss of me." Carver crossed his arms defiantly. "Besides, you're just jealous."

"Will you stop saying that? Why would I be jealous?" Hawke snapped. "Absolutely disgusted is more like it."

Isabela was still keeping up a steady flow of text messages, which was quite impressive. Hawke couldn't really focus on them with the pressing issue of her brother right before her.

 

> **I$abela:** hawk I'm bored wnna get out of here?
> 
> **I$abela:** to my room
> 
> **I$abela:** fucm kg mkg
> 
> **I$abela:** wnt you to fuck.me

Hawke decided, after much deliberation, not to respond. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"I said I know you had a thing for her last year. It was so obvious. Well, she likes me, not you."

Hawke pressed her palm against her forehead in total exasperation. "Carver, don't be an idiot. She— we—" She looked at her phone. Unwisely. What she saw was most distracting.

 

> **I$abela:** eat me out

"Um." 

"I see words have finally failed the great Marian Hawke," Carver said. "For once in your life, admit you've lost. She likes me."

"I promise you she doesn't." Marian said. "She's a manipulative bitch, and you know it."

"So what if she is?" Carver shrugged. "Doesn't mean I can't hang out with her. Doesn't mean you're not jealous."

Hawke decided to go for the low blow. Perhaps, upon later reflection, this was an unwise move. "This isn't because of that whole Peaches thing back in Lothering? Because I already said it's not my fault your dumb high school friend was obsessed with me."

His face darkened. "Peaches isn't dumb."

"Her name is _Peaches_ ," Hawke pointed out. "You know what, fine. Go and fuck Athenril for all I care. If you insist on being a whiny prat, I can't stop you. But there's no way in hell I'm bringing you to the Deep Roads with me. Hopefully you'll use the time I'm gone to grow the fuck up."

She was gratified, if a little guilty, to see that he was shocked into hurt silence.

 

> **Hawke:** stay away from my brother you fucking bitch
> 
> **Aveline:** huh? I've barely said 2 words to Carver all night
> 
> **Hawke:** oops sorry wrong person
> 
> **Hawke:** stay away from my brother you fucking bitch
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** y should i? hes kinda cute
> 
> **Hawke:** you're just trying to get back at me
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** and if u didn't treat ur baby brother so badly, it wouldn't be so easy ;)

Hawke stared at the empty message box, at the steadily flickering cursor, and realised she had no answer for that. It was probably true. The irony was not lost on her— in trying to protect her brother from all this shittiness, she'd driven him right into it. Despondently, she stared at her screen as though hoping a pop-up would appear explaining how to fix this mess or at least feel slightly better about it all.

 

> **I$abela:** want some rum

* * *

"You," Hawke said, slamming the shot glass down on Varric's table, where they'd had to relocate to at about 2 am. "Are a goddess. Really and truly."

"You'd be surprised how often I hear that." Isabela said. "People just aren't really… creative these days. You know? It's either 'dusky goddess' or 'fugly slut’"

Anders was resting, his head caught in an endless loop of falling onto Fenris's shoulder and being pushed roughly away again. Varric was also still there, swilling the remnants of his glass of wine thoughtfully. Everyone else had thankfully fucked off and gone home.

"Well, I'll try and come up with something new next time, I'm just too… I'm just too—"

"It's okay. I understand." Isabela patted her arm gently.

"Thank you. Nobody else does."

"And here I thought we were BFFs, Hawke." Varric said. "I'm wounded."

"We are BFFs," Hawke reassured him. "Don't worry."

"There's just some things only another woman can understand." Isabela added.

"I'll bet there are." Varric gave an easy laugh.

"Yes, I imagine you were having quite the intimate discussion all that time you were in Isabela's room," sneered Fenris. There didn't seem to be a huge difference between drunk Fenris and the real Fenris. Although now that Hawke thought about it, he usually was drinking when she saw him anyway. What if she'd never met the real Fenris? Wouldn't that be crazy.

"I guess Blondie's sleeping on my floor tonight." Varric said. "I'm sort of holding out hope that he'll have some kind of magic hangover curing spell up his sleeve in the morning. What about you, elf?"

"I'd sooner die than let him cast his twisted enchantments on me," Fenris said aggressively, although his ferocity was lessened by the fact that he'd given up trying to shift Anders and was now letting him snooze gently on his shoulder.

"Fair enough, but I meant did you need a place to stay tonight?"

"Oh. No, thanks, I'll make my own way home. I feel more or less fine. I believe the magic in my veins gives me some sort of tolerance…"

"Wow… that's so sexy…" Isabela said, awestruck.

"How is that sexy?" Hawke scoffed. "It just means getting drunk is almost impossible. Which is just depressing."

Fenris eyed her thoughtfully. "You're not entirely wrong." He said. "It's been an… enjoyable evening, surprisingly enough. Thanks for inviting me, Hawke." He stood, uncaring as Anders slumped to the ground.

Isabela yawned. "Ugh, time to hit the sack. I suppose you want to stay with me, don't you? Fine, just for tonight."

"You guys fall out or something? Hawke stays over all the time."

"No, Isabela's just trying to have less sex." That earned her a half-hearted slap.

"Bitch! That's not what I said."

"Forget I asked." Varric said. "Just leave my sight, both of you."

"Bye Fenris! Add me on instagram!"

"I don't know what that is."

Hawke followed Isabela out and down the hall, and almost as soon as she hit the pillows she fell asleep, breathing in the scent of generic Victoria's Secret perfume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics by the National.


	8. Shepherding Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following her fight with Carver, Hawke attempts to reconcile with her brother while inadvertently getting caught up in some more Qunari bullshit. Just another day in Kirkwall!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, here's the second half of that chapter! Thanks so much for following this story! I'm like......so close to being done with Act 1 holy shit.

_All the blood lying on the floor_  
_Sense the crowd expecting something more_  
_Opened up, proudly on display_  
_What we tried so hard to hide away_

* * *

Isabela was still asleep. That was good, it meant she'd be able to sneak out and spare both of them whatever conversation they'd be forced to have now that they were sober. She hadn't even taken off her clothes, that made things considerably easier. What wasn't easy was having to walk through the pub and Lowtown looking like she'd spawned from the pits of hell. What time was it? Her phone- she reached for it. 11:07AM. The battery was at 17%, which should just barely carry her home. And she had some messages.

> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** morning princess xoxo how u feeling?
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** u still owe me and u and ur dumbass brother r gonna pay up. TODAY
> 
> **Queen Bitch Supreme:** <attachment> call me or precious baby carvers gonna have a rougher start to his day than u
> 
> **Leandra:** hi honey everything okay? Last nite Carver seemed upset and wouldn't talk. Then he left. Call me when you get this. There's pizza in the fridge. Love you!

Hawke opened the attachment. Predictably, it was a grainy photo of Carver sleeping in Athenril's bed. She recognised that tacky paisley bedspread.

"Maker's breath, I almost can't wait to be in the Deep Roads." Hawke said to herself. "Surely the lives of Darkspawn can't be as complicated as this."

She grabbed her coat from where she'd flung it on the ground, and slipped out carefully.

Nobody was around when she arrived at home, which felt like a blessing from Andraste herself. After plugging in her phone, Hawke ambled to the fridge and located the box of pizza, throwing two slices into the microwave. She'd at least eat something before calling Athenril, because that wasn't something one should do on an empty stomach. She knew Athenril wasn't going to go through with her vague threats, so there wasn't any immediate danger. No, for the moment she was far more concerned with her brother's _emotional_ wellbeing.

"Hello?"

"Hey, give me back my brother you heinous bitch."

"I don't really think he wants to go back," Athenril said. "But it doesn't matter what he wants. Or what you want. What matters now is what I want."

"So what do you want?"

"A little favour for a well-paying stranger. I don't know many details, they contacted me online, through a proxy. Whoever it is values their anonymity. All I know is I'm being given a shit load of cash to send someone capable to a certain Lowtown address after nightfall. I'll give it to you, along with your idiot brother, as long as you both go."

"You don't know what they want? This screams dodgy, Athenril."

"Which is why I'm having you Hawkes do it instead of any of the dunces that work for me. You're statistically more likely to survive. Believe it or not, Hawke, but I'm not a bad person. I do have limits, though not very many. Listen, do this, and we're done. I'll call it even and never talk to either of you again." She gave a little laugh. "Carver's a sweet kid, but I'm not exactly raring for a second go if you know what I mean."

"I'm gonna pretend that I don't." Hawke said. "Look, it's a deal. But can't we leave Carver out of this? I'll go by myself."

"Maybe you should have a little more faith in your brother, Hawke. In any case, no, it's got to be the both of you. They really wanted more than one person for some reason. I'll text you the address, and Carver will be back in your loving sisterly embrace soon enough."

"Great."

"Huh. Weird. I guess this is goodbye, Hawke. It's been a genuine pleasure doing business with you."

"Can't say the same, Ath."

"Ha. Take care of yourself, Hawke."

* * *

 There was still some time before Carver would be back, so after nervously pacing for many minutes Hawke grabbed her jacket and left the apartment, not really sure where she was going. Her feet took her towards Hightown, and Aveline, which she supposed made sense.

"Hey, Brennan— is Aveline around?"

"Yeah, she's in her office. Everything alright?"

Hawke forced a smile. "Yeah, great, thanks." She pushed open the door to Aveline's office without knocking. Someone was in there, and both he and Aveline looked up at the sight of her. Hawke didn't recognize or care about him.

"Hawke!" Hissed Aveline. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something? I'm sorry, sir, she's just a family friend."

"No, that's quite alright, I was just about done anyway," Said the man, looking at her curiously. "I'll email you an update when I get a chance, then, Chief. Thank you for your time."

"Of course, sir." She stood up to shake his hand and he left, nodding politely at Hawke on his way out.

"That was the Secretary of the Treasury! You know, Bran Cavin? A highly important figure. Reports _directly_ to the mayor. You could at least have the decency to knock." Aveline said.

"That's assuming I have any decency at all," Hawke mumbled, throwing herself into the chair opposite Aveline. "Which I don’t."

Aveline frowned, clearly noticing Hawke's mood. "I see you're not your usual cheery self. What's wrong?"

"Aveline, am I a bad person?"

Aveline stared at her as if she'd gone mad, then laughed loudly. "What? What the hell are you on about, Hawke?"

"Could you just answer the fucking question?"

"Maker's breath, alright. Let me see, hm, no, I don't think you're a bad person. I mean, I don't exactly regard you as an upstanding citizen, but you're alright where it counts.”

"Do you think I'm mean?"

"Is this some sort of trick question?" Aveline met her stony glare and heaved a sigh. "You want the truth? Yes, I think you can be a bit of a bully sometimes. I know you're only joking around, but sometimes feelings get hurt. It's quite clear you don't really mean it, but some people are sensitive-"

"Like Carver."

"Well, yes, he is a bit... insecure."

Hawke felt distinctly worse, if that was possible. "I really think I've fucked up, Aveline." She said, staring at her hands, feeling the distinct urge to cry, embarrassingly enough. "Maker, I'm a horrible sister.  I'm— I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." What would Malcolm Hawke say if he were alive? When the twins had been younger he'd told Marian it was her job to keep her siblings safe from bullies and templars. Look at what she'd managed, only a few years after his death! Hawke ought to get herself a "sister of the year" placard, just like the “chief of police” one Aveline had on her desk.

Aveline looked extremely alarmed, and she got up and came around to Hawke's side of the desk so she could pat her comfortingly on the back. "There, there," She said, clearly at a loss. "It's alright. You may give Carver a hard time occasionally, but he knows how much you love him. And Maker knows how your family would have survived this long without you. You may not realize it, but secretly, I think he idolizes you. He's your little brother, and you're Marian Hawke. Why shouldn't he? It’s you that’s kept your family on its feet these past years, isn’t it?”

Hawke took a few gulping breaths, wiped her eyes furiously, tried to control her shoulders. This wasn't right, she was supposed to be the strong one of the family, the one who never broke down, even when things got monumentally shitty. The one who never let anything in the world get to her. _Stop this, you idiot, stop it._

"Hawke, did something happen? What's got you acting like this? Is Carver alright?"

"He's fine. I think. I'm going to meet him later." Hawke said.

"Well in that case, maybe it's a chance to mend things between the two of you? Now's as good a time as any."

Hawke nodded, steadying herself. "Ah, fuck, you're right. I should get out of your hair. Sorry to bother you, Aveline, I know you're busy."

Aveline looked at her sympathetically. "Don't worry about it. I'm here for you, Hawke, always where you need."

* * *

 After crawling shamefacedly away from the precinct, Hawke decided to run home and shower to clear her head and possibly even try to look like less of a damn wreck.

By the time she was pulling on some clothes, the door opened and Carver arrived.

"Mum? Gamlen?" He called.

"Nope, just little old me," Marian said, throwing her towel on the ground and opening the bathroom door. She'd pick it up later, but in the meantime it would hopefully cause an entertaining argument between her mother and uncle.

"Oh, swell." He said, flopping down on the sofa.

"Carver," She began, perching on the sofa's arm rest next to him. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I really am."

"So?" He said mercilessly. It would take a bit more schmoozing to get him to cave, it always did.

"Look, I know I'm always giving you a hard time. But I'm just trying to protect you-"

"I don't need protection, least of all your protection." Carver said. 

Hawke exhaled. "Fine, maybe not. But you're my brother, and whether or not you believe me I care about you. So I'm sorry, alright? I mean it."

"You just don't understand what it's like for me."

 _Never having to worry about anything beyond my fragile ego? Must be rough, Carv._ Hawke suppressed the urge to say what she wanted, which in and of itself was a mark of how much she was trying. She settled for thinking it really loudly in his direction.

"So you thought you'd show me by hooking up with our old boss?"

Carver shrugged moodily. "It did the trick, didn't it? We're here having this conversation, aren't we?"

"I suppose we are. Okay, ten points to Carver. You win." Hawke said. "Anything else you want to get off your chest while you've got the moral high ground? Time's a-wasting."

He glared. "I know you don't think I can take care of myself. But I'm twenty-one now. I may not have magic like you or Bethany or Dad, but I'm not the completely helpless idiot you all thought I was."

"Nobody thinks that, Carver. Dad especially didn't think that. He was proud of you."

"Was he? 'Cause as far as I remember, he only ever had time for you and Bethany. I never got to… got to kick around a football with him 'cause he was busy teaching you two new spells instead."

Hawke frowned, not having really thought about it before. She had loved and admired her dad fiercely, but it was true that her relationship with him had been strongly built on their shared magical talent. Bethany's too. _Look dad, look what I can do_. Yes, he'd always been a little more _there_ for his daughters' magical accomplishments than he had been for his hapless son's science projects and sports trophies.  "I know he wasn't always the perfect dad, but he loved you." Carver snorted disbelievingly. "Besides, what really matters is who you are, not who our parents want us to be. I mean, look at me, does it look like I give a shit about Leandra's opinions on my life?"

Carver reluctantly grinned. "Guess not."

"And hey, if all you needed to solve your issues was to kick around a football, we can still do that. But not tonight, I'm afraid."

"You got big plans tonight or something?"

"Athenril didn't tell you?"

He shook his head, confused.

"Well, she went to the trouble of preparing a lovely little sibling bonding activity for us. We may die."

"What? What activity? Why?"

"I have no idea. As for why, I'd say it's out of the kindness of her heart, but personally I'm not convinced she has either kindness or a heart…" Marian said pensively. "Doesn't matter, I owe her, and in her warped brain, you do too now. So we're going as soon as it gets dark."

"Fine," Carver said. "I still hate you."

"All that hatred is going to make your hair fall out."

"No it isn't! Shut up."

"What, you didn't seriously think Gamlen's hairline was always like that, did you? No, all his pent-up bitterness is shriveling up his hair follicles."

"Why can you never say anything normal?" Carver sighed. "There's still ages 'til sunset, I'm gonna watch TV."

"Cool, I'm going to pop down to the library."

"Why?"

"Books, Carver. Knowledge. You may have heard about it."

"Just leave, already."

Marian did, grinning. Well, things between them seemed to be more or less back to normal. Of course, for them 'normal' meant 'rocky and tumultuous' but she'd work on it. And she knew where to start. Not with a book, those were a damn waste of trees, but with checking her email at the library's computer.

Carver met her later at Elegant's coffee shop, a locale she used to frequent back when she still worked for Athenril. The owner— known only as Elegant- was attractive and flirty but, most unfortunately, engaged to some rich guy. Good on her, Hawke supposed.

Carver flopped down wordlessly in the chair opposite hers.

"Oh, hey." Hawke said, setting her phone down. "Ready to go meet our doom? Or do you want some coffee first?"

"No, thanks," Carver said.

“Well, before we go, I think you should look at this. Call it a peace offering.” She passed him the emails that she’d printed out at the library. He took it and glanced at it.

“This is an email from a Circle mage. What’s it got to do with me?”

“Keep reading.”

Carver squinted at the fine print carefully. “Hang on. This is an old email from dad. To a… Templar? ‘Thank you, conscience of the Order, Ser Maurevar Carver,’… Carver?”

“Your namesake.” Marian said. “I found some contact information for one of dad's old friends in the Circle, and emailed to ask if he had anything lying around. It's not much, but I thought you might like to see it.” 

“Yeah… I— thanks for showing me this. It’s… a connection I didn’t know was there.” He sighed. "Look, Mar… I know you're right about Athenril being bad news and all. I was just angry at you, so I didn't give a shit. I know it was stupid."

Hawke gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "It's not as stupid as all that. Besides, it doesn't matter now. We do this small thing for her, and we never have to see or hear from her again. Either that or we'll be dead, in which case we definitely won't see or hear from her again. Either way, we win."

Carver grimaced. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, can it? I mean, it's not as if Athenril's involved in anything that serious, right?"

"Guess we'd better go find out." Hawke said cheerily, draining her coffee cup of the dregs and heading back up to the counter. "Thanks, Elegant. My condolences on your upcoming wedding."

Elegant laughed. "Oh stop it, you're insufferable, you are. Nice to see you, Carver."

"And you."

The streets of Lowtown were a great deal emptier and a great deal darker than when she'd entered the coffee shop, and they made their way back through the central market in the direction of home. The address Athenril had given her put them before a boarded-up shopfront, down an alley which veered off from the main road.

"You packing?" Hawke asked.

"What?"

"Have you got a gun?" She clarified, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"Oh. Yeah. 'Course." It struck her that Leandra, ever the pacifist, would be saddened by the fact both her remaining children carrying weapons at all times was now a certainty, like second nature. How times had changed- though it was far more likely that times had always been like this, and she simply hadn't been aware of it.

"Good." She reached out and rapped the door with her knuckles three times, like Athenril's text had instructed. Then they waited. Nothing, for two minutes, then the door opened and they were face to face with a uniformed templar.

A million thoughts ran through Hawke's panicked brain, primarily that Athenril had tricked them and was finally exacting her vengeance. Carver was similarly gaping, goldfish like, and Hawke instinctually flung out a hand so that he wouldn't reach for his gun.

"Oh, um, hi," She said. "We seem to have got the wrong address. So sorry to bother you, well go next door."

"Wait," Said a voice from behind the templar. "You're the elf's people, right? Don't mind Ser Varnell. He's only here for my protection. You can never be too careful around this area. Please, come in. This matter is…delicate."

Marian entered with Carver following, both eyeing the Templar suspiciously. Ser Varnell stood back to let them pass, hand poised meaningfully on the holster of his gun.

The woman stepped out of the shadows, and the Hawke siblings regarded her in shock. She had steely blonde, short-cropped hair, a disdainful sneer, and the black pencil skirt and red suit jacket typically worn by the sisters of Kirkwall’s chantry.

"Well, I have to say I didn't expect this," Hawke said. "What's going on?"

The sister looked them over critically. "Hmm. Well, I believe you'll do just fine. I asked Athenril to provide someone of… limited notoriety who would not link this back to me. I need you to escort someone out of the city, but I think you'll agree that the nature of the party makes this… unique."

"Up to no good, are we, Sister?" Hawke said.

Sister Petrice scoffed. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm here precisely to do the Maker's will."

"Oh, I'm sure you are." Hawke said doubtfully. "But that doesn't matter. Who is going where?"

"I have assumed a burden of charity and- this is my charge." She beckoned to them; they followed her into the back room, Ser Varnell silently bringing up the rear.

"Oh, balls," Said Carver, as soon as he saw the occupant of the room.

Marian could only stare, dumbstruck, at the stone-skinned giant. It was, as near as she could tell, a Qunari, but she hadn't seen one like this before. She hadn't seen _anything_ quite like this before. Wires, nanides, and metal studs punctured his skin, wrapping all over his immense torso and leading into a thick collar of black metal around his neck. His face was obscured by a flat black mask. Clearly he was prisoner to this terrifying device, which seemed built to administer as much pain as possible.

"What the hell is this?" Hawke said, rounding on the Sister.

"Mind your tongue." Snapped the Templar.

"It's fine, Varnell. You can see now why I needed to remain anonymous," Petrice said. "This is obviously a... delicate matter. Which is why I contacted your employer. Ordinarily I would not deal with Lowtown junkies and drug dealers at all but these, as you can see, are unique circumstances."

"You still haven't explained anything." Carver said. "That's a Qunari, right? What's wrong with him?"

"See for yourselves the subjugation his own people put him through. Would even a Templar bind a mage like this?" She said, moving towards the Qunari and looking up at it thoughtfully. "He's a survivor of infighting between the Qunari and their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him 'Ketojan', or bridge between worlds."

"He's a mage?" Hawke approached him warily, trying to see past that black mask. He stared ahead, doing nothing, saying nothing. What a a horrible way to live, muzzled and collared like an untrained dog. Hawke couldn't imagine it, nor could she imagine how any society as advanced as the Qunari would be able to justify such abuse.

"The Mayor and his supporters feel that peace begins with appeasement. If they had their way, this mage would be returned to his people, and we would continue to ignore this clear violation of basic rights. But he can serve a better purpose."

"How so?" Hawke asked suspiciously. She didn't trust this sister at all whatsoever, and was finding it hard to believe that only good intent lay behind this scheme. This woman had an agenda, and Marian and Carver were now part of her machinations, whatever they may be.

"I want him free." Petrice said. "He has to be guided out of the city without alerting the Qunari or being seen with me."

"I really don't think the Arishok would be happy about this," Hawke said with a sigh. "Then again, he didn't seem like a particularly happy fellow."

"You've... met the Qunari leader?" Petrice glanced at her in surprise. "Then you must know how they treat anyone who leaves their heathen order. The Arishok would execute this poor creature…In fact, it might be better this way. How much worse would the Qunari look for attacking one of their own friends?"

"Well, I think friends is putting it a bit optimistically." Hawke said.

"Does he... do anything?" Carver asked nervously. "Like, is he about to start doing magic on us or something? I'd prefer to know sooner rather than later."

"No. He hasn't struggled, resisted, or become aggressive all the time we've had him, even when provoked. Which makes me think that he knows we are his only shot. I can only assume he wants to be led to freedom."

"That's assuming an awful lot, isn't it?" Hawke said. "How can you be sure?"

"I can't, but I can be sure that no thinking creature would willingly submit to this treatment. Look at him- would you want this?"

"I guess not."

Carver snorted humourlessly. "I suppose that if you're wrong, it's us that'll have to deal with it."

She spared him a withering glance. "You can either provide the discretion I need, or you can't."

Hawke nodded. "I can get him out. He's a little too conspicuous for the streets though."

"I need this mage to be an example of Qunari cruelty. This has to play out just so," replied Petrice. "In the alley behind this shop there's an entrance to a maintenance shaft which leads to one of those old abandoned subway stations in the undercity. You can follow the tracks all the way to the coast."

"That’s quite the hike." Hawke said grimly. "You ready, Ketojan? My name is Hawke. This is my brother, Carver."

He made a strange gurgle-growling sound in response.

"Okay then." Hawke said. "Let's go."

* * *

 The subway tunnels were dark and the still air was suffocatingly hot, quiet except for rats scurrying the tracks ahead of them into holes and crevices. If they just followed the main conduit, presumably it would dump out onto the Wounded Coast like Petrice had said. She doubted very much that the Sister had arranged this entire scheme just to let them die like trapped rats underground. They hurried forward, Ketojan bringing up the rear without a sound.

"This is a bad fucking idea," Carver muttered, squinting into the darkness.

"It is, but we've got no choice. Or I haven't. I suppose you do though, you're free to leave if you really can't handle it."

"No, I'll be fine. You'll probably need me anyway." Carver sighed. "Maker, we're in it now, aren't we?"

"We, little brother, are just pawns in some greater scheme." Hawke said thoughtfully. "The real question is why is a chantry sister mixed up in Qunari business, and what does she hope to achieve? I find it hard to believe she really cares that much about the plight of one Qunari mage. There's some larger picture here. But we aren't being payed enough to care, so let's just get this over with."

"Agreed," Carver said. "It should be a fairly easy cop, though. I mean, what's gonna be down here besides rats and shit?"

Shortly after, however, they heard voices echoing off the curved, graffiti-strewn walls. At the next platform was a small group of people- squatters or junkies, no doubt, with nowhere else to go, huddled around a fire that was burning slowly in a metal bin.   

"Oy, look here." Said one of the men, spotting them. Three of them stood, hopped off the platform onto the tracks in front of them.

 "You're in the wrong place, girlie." Said the largest and most menacing one. “Shouldn’t you be off curling your hair?”

"We're kind of on our way somewhere," Hawke said tersely, hoping to avoid confrontation. "We just need to get through."

"Why should we let you? You think you’re gonna stop us?" To his fellows, he said: "The pretty ones always have something to prove."

"What is that thing?" Said another of the men, eyes round as plates as he took in the sight of Ketojan, standing stoically behind them.

"It's one of those damn oxmen! You some sort of Qunari lover? Maybe we ought to get rid of you and see who will pay the most for your little pet."

Ketojan growled, low and threatening.

"I don't think it likes that. I dunno, man, maybe we should just let them through. This looks weird."

"A voice of reason! What's he doing with you?"  Hawke said.

"You lot think you're so damn clever. You Fereldans and Qunari thinking you can just waltz in here and take jobs and homes from hardworking Marchers like me."

"Look, I'm terribly sorry to cut your xenophobic diatribe short, but we really are in a hurry," Hawke said. "So if you're going to try and stop us, can you get on with it?"

"You're a right mouthy cunt—" but as he was standing up, reaching his arms out to grab for her, Hawke felt a blistering wave of heat raze the air beside her right arm. There was a blinding explosion- Hawke threw her hands up to shield her face, but the flames never reached her. The men were blown backwards out of sight- the rest of the group scattered back into the station, screaming. When the smoke cleared, she turned around to see the Qunari mage with singed palms outstretched, wrists and forearms laced with the last residues of fire magic slowly snaking away from his skin.

"They get the idea, Qunari— Ketojan— whatever. Calm down."

His arms went to his sides and once again he was utterly stoic.

"You- I gave you an order, and you followed it. Why?" Hawke asked.

He gurgled in reply.

"Still a chatterbox, I see."

Gurgling noises.

"Can't you, like, stomp once for yes and twice for no?"

He gurgled again.

"Right. Could have expected that answer." Shaking her head, Hawke turned to Carver. "We should clear out of here."

"Right with you," He said, eyeing Ketojan warily. Marian didn't think there was any threat, however, at least not to them. It was odd, though— why was this fearsome creature, clearly capable of defending itself, following her and obeying her meekly? It didn't quite fit with Petrice's sob story about a helpless, bound sheep that wanted desperately to be freed. What a weird mess they'd stumbled into.

They encountered no more obstacles as they walked the tunnels, finally rounding the final bend and seeing light enter the cavernous walls. Night had fallen fully by the time they felt the sea air on their skin.

"Charming little area," Hawke commented, stepping carefully from the tracks onto the rubbish-strewn inlet. The exterior brick archway of the tunnel was heavily tagged, most noticeably, recently, and vividly with fun little slogans like "DEATH TO THE QUN" and "GO HOME OXMEN".

"Well, we're done here, right? We can go back now? All she said was get him out."

"True," Hawke said. "I think—" but she stopped immediately upon noticing the three hulking figures striding towards them. Qunari, huge and horned, dressed from the neck down in that strange red and white body armor of theirs. It was reputed to protect the wearer from anything, even bullets, though Hawke didn't see how anything that thin could be so effective. They were all armed with automatic rifles, thankfully not pointing at them. Yet.

"Stop there, _basra vashedan_ ," Said the one in front coldly. "I am Arvaraad, and Saarebas is under my jurisdiction."

Hawke looked back at Ketojan (or was it Saarebas?), who seemed as unbothered by the arrival of his fellow Qunari as he seemed by everything.

"The members of his Karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth. But the trail leads here, to Saarebas and you."

"Oh shit," Carver mumbled.

"How did I know this job would end in more Qunari?" Marian said exasperatedly. "Look, we didn't kill any of your people. Clearly, this was set up."

"You talk like ignorance is your natural condition," snapped Arvaraad. "The bodies could only lead here. I don't know how you possess Saarebas, but you have no claim in the Qun. He will be reclaimed, and this crime rectified."

"And if he doesn't want to go back?" Hawke said. She'd met tolerable Qunari, sure, but this Arvaraad was far from that, and he was starting to piss her off.

He stepped forward menacingly. Hawke stood her ground, but it was Saarebas he addressed, raising a little black device above his head. "Saarebas— show that your will remains bound to the Qun!"

Obediently, Saarebas bowed his head and bent his knee. Well, so much for having him on their side. Arvaraad pressed a button on his device and the heavy black collar around Saarebas's neck fired, sending electricity arcing across the wires on his body. Saarebas collapsed onto the ground, writhing in silent yet obvious pain.

"Hey— stop that." Hawke said indignantly, but Arvaraad only scoffed.

"He has only obeyed your orders because he wants to obey. He is allowed no other purpose."

"You can't seriously believe he wants this," Carver said. "Look at the guy."

"It is his role. He has accepted. Just like my role is to control him, his role is to be controlled. Saarebas are dangerous and contagious, and like any threat to the Qun it must be contained."

"Well that isn't fucked up at all," Hawke said. "If I give him to you, what then?"

"Then the threat must be contained," Arvaraad said simply. "As he has been unsupervised by his Karataam for so long, the presence of demons or corruption cannot be ascertained. The Qun demands that he must be eliminated."

"You're going to murder him?" Sister Petrice had been right about that, at least. Hawke could feel anger building up in her gut, warring against her sense of self-preservation and general tendency to not care about things that had nothing to do with her.

"It's not murder. It is the Qun."

"Oh, right. I'll be sure to use that excuse if I'm ever arrested." Hawke said. "Carver, maybe you should get out of here. This might get ugly."

"Hell no," Carver said. "I said I'm with you and I am. Besides, these idiots are pissing me off." She looked at him, surprised but not ungratefully.

Arvaraad curled his lip disdainfully. "Enough of this. We're on a schedule. The Qun demands that you hand Saarebas over."

"The Qun can shove it," Hawke said, curling her palms, red flame igniting from her fists. "Try picking on someone who isn't wearing a shock collar."

The Qunari reacted in horror, scrambling back as if she had an infectious disease. Clearly, an unbound mage was not something they were accustomed to dealing with. "You are _Saarebas_? _Bas saarebas_?" Arvaraad spat, filled with loathing and disgust. " _Vashedan! Nehraa sataa Karasaam_!" As one, the two soldiers raised their rifles, aimed them directly at Carver and Marian. "You spewed your words at me, trying to infect my mind with your demonic powers. The Qun requires your death! _Ataas_ -" But before he could finish his order, he was silenced by a flawless headshot, right through his forehead where he wore no armor.

Carver, shockingly enough. But there was no time for congratulations. Summoning her energy, she launched a fireball that knocked the other two Qunari onto the ground, weapons skidding from their hands. She had a hunch that for all their bulletproofing, the advanced technologies of the Qunari were simply not equipped to handle magical attacks. A substantial weakness, one that explained why they hadn't yet totally decimated the Tevinter Imperium.

Time to test out the theory. Hawke pulled at the fade, wrapping energy around the nearest Qunari to crush him within a rapidly imploding cage of light. Then she sent volleys of electricity towards the other one— he was pinned to the ground, convulsing wildly. She nodded at Carver and he raised his gun again and— one, two rounds later, they were still. Dead.

"Well, that was a laugh," Hawke said, wiping her brow. "Nice shooting. I'm serious, you were amazing." She didn't want to give him too much praise in one go in case his head got too big for his shoulders, but he was very possibly better than she was now. It's not like she'd ever really practised much on her own, just kind of pointed and shot as needed. But Carver, her baby brother, always so useless and directionless, had clearly put real time and dedication into this. And he was good. Athenril had been right— she didn't give him nearly enough credit.

"I— thanks." Carver said, looking pleased with himself. "Uh, anyway, what do we do now? With him, I mean." Saarebas was still doubled over, seemingly unable to move.

"Right. I think-" She crouched next to Arvaraad and plucked the little black device from his still fingers. It looked like a very small radio, with a few buttons and an LED display. The numbers on it meant nothing to her. She tossed it onto the ground, then stood and stomped on it with all her strength, feeling the machinery crunch under her heel.

There was a small zapping noise and they turned to see Saarebas getting slowly to his feet, pulling the mask off his face. Horrifically, it seemed to have been drilled right into his skin, and blood ran in little rivulets down his chin and neck from each rupture.

"I... am unbound. Odd… wrong..." He mumbled, speech impeded somewhat by the steel wires that crossed his lips. His voice was raw from disuse. "But you— you deserve honour. "

"Are you okay?"

Saarebas regarded her solemnly, his pale eyes almost luminous from their sunken sockets. "You are _basvaraad_. Worthy of following. Thank you for your intent, even though it was… wrong."

Hawke frowned, not knowing what to say.

"I know what Arvaraad wants. I have to be… contained. As the Qun demands."

Marian stared at him in horror, realising what he meant. "What? But I did all this— I fought so you could be free— and you want to die anyway?"

"Now that's gratitude for you," Carver snarked.

He turned walking away from them towards the edge of a cliff that overlooked the shore. Marian followed, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

"I submit to the most difficult choice: the truth of the Qun."

"What if it's wrong?"

"Many say that before they know certainty."

Hawke reached out a hand and touched the bare skin of his shoulder- one of the few places not covered in wires. He stopped, surprised. "Please, you don't have to do this. Mages can exist, they can be happy and free, just like I am."

"But are you happy without certainty? I have certainty. I have chosen."

"Existing is not a choice."

He considered that carefully. "It is the only choice. _Asit tal-eb_. It is to be."

"Why are you arguing with him? He's just a crazy Qunari. Our job ended when we left the city, remember?" Carver hissed. "He wants to do himself in, that's none of our business."

"You're right, I just— never mind." Hawke said, then sighed. "Well, I guess it's up to you, Saarebas. I can't stop you."

"You know certainty and borders. Your role would change little if you accepted the Qun." He pressed a small, cold object into her palm. "Take this secret thing, _basvaraad_. Remember this day." And turning to the cliff, he extended his arms to the sky- the first rays of morning were staining the world golden pink and slowly, flames spread over every inch of the Qunari mage, hotter and brighter and fiercer until he was gone, and all there was was ash.

* * *

They were both silent during the bus ride back into the city, too exhausted and shocked and covered in sweat and grime to say much. It was a relief to be sitting down and not walking.  Feeling like she'd been awake forever, Hawke tried to sort out the jumble of thoughts in her brain, the image of Saarebas self-immolating obstinately refusing to leave her thoughts. How could a mage's own free will be so broken down that they'd rather blow themselves up than live free for a day? It was true that Hawke had never experienced captivity, though. She couldn't understand that thought process, and she hoped to never have to.

And then there was that damned sister. Clearly Petrice had planned for them to be gunned down by the Qunari at the other end, as some sort of fucked sacrifice to whatever nefarious scheme she had. Maybe to cause further tension with the Qunari. Hawke couldn't wait to track that bitch down again. After sleeping. A warm bed, soft blankets, Isabela— wait, no, not her. Who then? Nobody. Her old mattress at Gamlen's house would have to do.

They got off the bus at the Lowtown stop, heading past the Hanged Man and all its comfort towards the slums where Gamlen's flat was.

"I don't understand why he did that," Carver said suddenly. "I mean he was free, right? So why?"

"Who knows? Qunari are weird." Hawke said, yawning. "I'm too tired to care anymore."

"Yeah me too," Carver said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The flat was dark and silent, with both Gamlen and Leandra presumably asleep at this early of an hour. "What did he give you?"

"I don't know." Hawke said, holding it out for Carver to see. It appeared to be a little metal ball, utterly unremarkable. "Maybe it means something to the Qunari. Could be valuable, I guess."

"Hopefully. Ow. Maker, I can't feel my bloody legs. We must have been walking for hours in that dark hole."

"Well, it's good practise."

"Practise for what?"

"The Deep Roads, of course. Unless you've changed your mind about wanting to come?"

The grin that split across his face was shocking, and she realised that this was because she hadn't seen it in so long. "No- I haven't."

"Good," she said, and meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chap lyrics by how to destroy angels


End file.
